


opia

by scootsaboot



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Character Death, Fake Dating, M/M, Some pining, Werewolf AU, both temporary and permanent, some gross wound/injury stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-23
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2019-03-23 02:53:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 37,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13778133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scootsaboot/pseuds/scootsaboot
Summary: opian. the ambiguous intensity of looking someone in the eye, which can feel simultaneously invasive and vulnerable—their pupils glittering, bottomless and opaque—as if you were peering through a hole in the door of a house, able to tell that there’s someone standing there, but unable to tell if you’re looking in or looking out.from thedictionary of obscure sorrows--Rhys left hunting behind a long time ago. Tim finds his way to Rhys' doorstep anyway.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! This entire thing is 100% complete and will be posted on a schedule. Huge thanks to thirtysixsavefiles and ssealdog for beta-ing!

There was something on Rhys’ patio.

Actually, as Rhys looked through the glass pane of his sliding door at the mass of fur and claws, he was pretty sure it was a some _one_. The massive brown wolf was lying on its side, chest heaving up and down like it couldn’t quite catch its breath. Its fur was matted with dark, nearly black blood that oozed from a wound Rhys couldn’t quite see from here, but he was sure it wasn’t pretty.

Rhys looked down at his watch. He had to leave for work in ten minutes. Rhys looked back at the shuddering, bloody form of the goddamn werewolf on his patio and thought, _why me._

He could just leave it there. With an injury like that there was bound to be a hunter looking for it. If Rhys went to work, the wolf would probably be gone with no sign that it was ever here by the time he got home. He’d get to keep himself out of it and get his patio cleaned for free. The thing was probably feral, had likely killed a few people, maybe even ate some of them. Werewolves weren’t exactly easy to find if they weren’t causing some kind of trouble.

The wolf’s ears twitched and it wheezed, loud enough for Rhys to hear through the glass, its whole body shuddering with it.

The time for Rhys to leave for work came and went, ticked away as he stood in his living room and watched the wolf on his patio. Werewolves were known for their accelerated healing abilities, but the wolf didn’t look like it could shake this one off. It was going to die if Rhys left it alone.

Rhys cursed out loud. He looked past the werewolf, out onto the field between his house and the dark treeline of the forest. It shouldn’t have even been able to get onto the property with the wards Rhys had put in place. They were designed to keep supernatural creatures from coming anywhere close--he’d have to redo them, make them stronger.

He looked back to the wolf. If Rhys was going to help it, he needed to bring it inside before anyone saw it, or the thing hunting it showed up. Rhys stepped up to the door, his hand hesitating over the handle. He looked down at his nice button-down shirt, his crisp black pants, his nice dress shoes.

Werewolf blood wouldn’t come out at the drycleaner’s. Maybe he should change.

The werewolf let out another pitiful wheeze. Rhys sighed, grabbing the handle again and opening the door. The stench of wet dog and iron hit him full-force, along with the chill of the November air. Rhys pulled a face and covered his nose as he stepped out onto his brick patio, his breath curling around his sleeve.

It had been a long time since Rhys had last seen a werewolf, and he’d never been so close before. There weren’t many this close to the city--at least not many who caused enough trouble to warrant having hunters sent after them.

The wolf’s ears twitched, perking up as Rhys neared. It struggled to lift its massive head, its tail thumping against the brickwork, tense and unhappy.

‘ _Yeah_ , _well, I’m not happy about it either you little asshole.’_ Rhys thought as he rounded on the creature. When he finally came face to face with it, the wolf’s eyes darted to him immediately, bright and angry. Blue and green. It bared its teeth with a growl.

“Don’t growl at me,” Rhys said firmly. “I should be the one who’s angry. You’re bleeding all over my very expensive patio.”

The wolf quieted, but didn’t hide its teeth, still watching Rhys with hostility.

“I’m here to help, okay?” Rhys held up his hands in a sign of surrender.

The wolf huffed in reply. Rhys took a step closer and the wolf shrunk in on itself, away from Rhys, its ears going flat against its head, its tail tucking inward. All the bravado from a moment ago fell away, and it looked like nothing more than a scared dog.

Something like guilt stabbed into Rhys’ chest, and he slowly crouched down beside the wolf, keeping his hands up. “I’m not going to hurt you. I don’t have any weapons.”  

The wolf’s eyes darted to Rhys’ cybernetic arm and a low growl rumbled in its chest.

“It’s just a prosthetic,” Rhys said, wiggling his fingers. “I mean--okay, not _just_ , but there’s no knives hidden in it if that’s what you’re worried about.”

When the wolf only continued to watch him, Rhys inched closer, slowly reaching out his left hand in what he hoped was a non-threatening manner. The creature was absolutely massive, its head as large as Rhys’ torso. One bite would break Rhys in half.

The wolf’s lips curled back and it bared its teeth again. Rhys froze, afraid it would lunge forward and have his hand for a snack. His heart thudded against his chest as the wolf inhaled, pressing its wet nose against Rhys’ fingers.

Somehow, Rhys found his voice. “Smells...uh, good, I hope? I’m trying a new cologne.”

The wolf took another sniff and, slowly, slowly, put its teeth away, relaxing just a little.

Rhys let out a shaky breath and pulled his hand back. “Okay. Okay. Making nice with a werewolf--nothing to it. Listen, uh--” Rhys glanced around. “I don’t want you to die on my patio. I mean. I want to help you. I know you can understand me so...can you change your form? I can’t bring you in like this.”

The wolf huffed, its eyes roving over Rhys, unsure. It looked away.

“I could call the pound instead if you want.”

The wolf whined, its tail thumping against the ground. For a moment, it just lied there, as if it was still trying to decide what to do. Then its body went tense and it started to shift. Its bones cracked loudly--breaking, Rhys realized in horror--and reformed into something smaller, more fragile.

In just a few moments, the massive wolf was replaced by a man; a man with tanned skin and freckles. He had short, brown hair the same shade the wolf’s fur had been. Rhys swallowed as he drew his gaze down the length of the man’s body--his muscled arms and chest, the deep lines of his abs.

Rhys’ eyes caught on the fresh wound there. The man’s skin was split apart by three deep gashes, blood oozing from them at an alarming rate.

“Guh.” Rhys tore his eyes away from the wounds and tried not to gag. “Okay!” He said. “That’s disgusting. Give--Give me your hand, let’s get inside and get this over with.”

The man said nothing, but reached out to Rhys with a shaking hand. Rhys took it and helped the man get to his feet. The man went pale as soon as he was upright and swayed on his legs, nearly dropping to the ground again. Rhys held him steady and slung one of those muscled arms around his shoulder, taking the man’s full weight with a grunt. He must’ve outweighed Rhys by fifty pounds at least.

Rhys helped the man inside, and after one last look to the woods behind them, he shut and locked the door.

 

* * *

 

The man didn’t say a word as they struggled through the living room and to the downstairs bathroom. Rhys carefully lowered him to the floor in the bathroom, his back against the wall. He left the man there as he rifled through the cupboard for his first aid kit. It wasn’t anything special, just something he’d picked up at the corner store a few years ago. It was still wrapped in plastic.

“Okay.” Rhys said as he tore open the kit. “Okay. This is fine. There’s a werewolf bleeding out on your bathroom floor but it’s not a big deal.” He pulled out a packet of surgical thread and a sterile needle. “Just…have to sew him up.” Rhys threaded the needle with shaky hands and turned back toward the man. He eyed the needle in Rhys’ hand, then looked up at Rhys, his brows furrowed.

“I know! I don’t want to do this either!” Rhys said. “I can’t exactly take you to the vet, can I?”

The man didn’t say anything, but looked away, his fists tight. Swallowing, Rhys grabbed an antiseptic cloth and carefully wiped at the gashes. The man flinched under the burn of it, his stomach quivering beneath Rhys’ hands. When the injuries were as clean as they could be, Rhys tossed the bloodied cloth into the garbage can and held up the needle.

He took a deep breath through his mouth and got to work.

The first slide of the needle into the torn skin was enough to make Rhys gag, his stomach rolling unpleasantly. His fingers shook as he stitched the werewolf back together, sticky with dark blood.

When he finally pulled the thread tight on the last stitch and tied it off, Rhys sat back with a heavy exhale. It wasn’t the prettiest job in the world, but those stitches would hold until that super werewolf healing kicked in.

The man was breathing heavily; he looked down at himself, at the stitches Rhys had done. He leaned away from the wall with a pained grunt, and tried to stand. He didn’t get far, couldn’t even get his legs under him before his back hit the wall again.

“Okay, slow down, just--” Rhys started, pressing his hands against the man’s shoulders when he tried it again. The werewolf’s head snapped up, and he bared his teeth, his canines sharpening into fangs. Rhys flinched and quickly pulled away, out of biting range. Once his heart started beating again, Rhys narrowed his eyes at the other man. “Dont. Do that.” He said. “I already said I wouldn’t hurt you, and I just _sewed_ you back together. Do you know how disgusting that was? And I haven’t even heard a thank you.”

The man watched him a moment, before tilting his chin down to look at his injuries again and mumbling something Rhys couldn’t make out.

“What was that?”

“Thank you.” The man said through gritted teeth, his mismatched eyes meeting Rhys’ from beneath dark lashes.

“Oh, so you _do_ speak.” Rhys said, reaching for the gauze in the first aid kit. “I was beginning to wonder. And you’re welcome.” He held up the roll of gauze for the other man to see. “Can I bandage you up without worrying if you’re going to bite my hand off?”

The man huffed, something between a laugh and an exasperated sigh, then winced, going silent again. He jerked his chin in what Rhys was going to take as a nod, and Rhys leaned in close to start bandaging up the man’s shredded torso. Blood was already starting to leak from his wounds again. Rhys pressed his hand against the man’s warm skin as he pulled the gauze tight.

“So, do you have a name?” Rhys asked as he taped the end of the gauze. “Cause I’ve just been calling you Hot Werewolf Dude in my head, which--I mean, I can stick with, but it’s pretty long. Doesn’t really roll off the tongue, y’know?”

The werewolf gave him a blank look.

“No? No name?” Rhys asked. “Well, I’m sure I can come up with something. Fluffy? Spot? Lucky?”

“Tim. My name’s Tim.” The werewolf said sharply.

“...Tim? Really?”

_Tim_ scowled at him.

“Okay, Tim The Werewolf,” Rhys said and got to his feet. “I’m Rhys. You wanna tell me why I found you bleeding to death on my patio?”

Tim shut his mouth, his lips pressed together as he looked away.

Rhys sighed and stepped over to the sink. The water turned pink as it washed away the blood on his hands. “I’m trying to help you, Tim. I can’t do that unless you tell me what happened to you. If something’s after you--”

“Another werewolf--tried to kill me.”

Rhys turned off the faucet and dried his hands. He frowned. “Another werewolf?”

Werewolves attacking each other wasn’t unheard of, but it didn’t happen often. Most werewolves had packs, and any in-fighting was usually sorted out by the pack leader before it became lethal. At least, that’s what Rhys’ parents had told him.

“Why?” Rhys asked, turning back to Tim and leaning against the sink.

Tim shrugged his shoulders.

“No idea at all?”

“He didn’t exactly sit down for a talk before he dug his claws into me, no.” Tim said, pushing away from the wall in another attempt to stand. He winced, sucking a sharp breath in between his teeth.

“Ughh,” Rhys sighed. “Okay, fine. Fine. We’ll--deal with that later. Let’s...get you somewhere you can lie down and--” Rhys tried very _very_ hard not to look at Tim’s naked body. “A blanket. Definitely one of those."

 

* * *

 

Tim was laid out on the black sectional in the living room, wrapped up in at least three blankets Rhys had dragged out of the closet. If any blood got on that couch, Rhys would have to toss the whole thing, there’d be no salvaging it.

He’d given Tim a few painkillers, which he’d been hoping would knock him out for a few hours so he could have his freak-out in privacy. No such luck--Tim was fighting sleep very obviously, his eyes glassy and half-lidded. He still managed to keep them on Rhys, suspicious of his every move. Rhys turned on the television and let the noise of some Food Network show fill the room. He headed to the kitchen and called Vaughn, hoping Tim wouldn’t try to listen in over the sound of the TV.

“And...he was attacked by another werewolf?” Vaughn asked after Rhys relayed the story to him.

“Yeah. It looked--pretty vicious. He was bleeding out.”

“That’s...concerning.” Vaughn said. “As far as I knew, there weren’t _any_ werewolves in that area. None on our record, anyway. If what he said is true, that means there’s at least two. How’d he get past your wards?”

“They’re only meant to stop creatures with like...bad intentions.”

“You sure they’re working right?”

“Well last night was a full moon,” Rhys said. “That’s _usually_ when werewolves are at peak _Bad Intentions_. He wouldn’t have gotten past them if he was looking for trouble.”

The line was quiet for a moment. Vaughn sighed. “If you say so. Just...be careful around him, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Rhys said, peering around the doorway to look at Tim. He wasn’t looking at the TV, but he wasn’t looking towards Rhys either. Gortys had apparently gotten over her initial fear of the werewolf. The cat stalked her way to the couch, her little nose in the air as she sniffed Tim. Rhys was about to step back into the living room, pick Gortys up and take her as far away from the wolfman as possible, but--Tim reached out his hand. Gortys sniffed it, her tail swishing behind her.

Rhys was frozen to the spot, afraid he was about to witness a massacre.

Gortys bumped her head against Tim’s hand and meowed loudly.

Tim...pet her. Gently.

“--hys? Are you still there?”

“What? Yeah.” Rhys turned away from the scene, shaking his head. “Sorry. The cat--nevermind. You think you can find out where Tim came from?”

Vaughn said. “It’s still a few days before I’m back in town, but I’ll definitely look into it. And...make sure you call me or Yvette if he tries anything.”

“I think I can handle one werewolf on my own. He can’t even sit up.”

“Still, Rhys. You know how they can be.” Vaughn said, sounding very much like a mother hen.

“Yeah, okay, I know. Text me if you find anything out.”

Rhys ended the call and quietly stepped back into the living room. Gortys was up on the couch now, curled up by Tim’s head, kneading his shoulder. Tim’s eyes were closed, his breathing even. Was he…? Rhys took another step. Tim’s eyes flew open and fixed on Rhys as Gortys started to purr.

“Uh...hey.” Rhys said. “See you met my cat. Thanks for not eating her.”

Tim tilted his head to look at Gortys, and then looked back to Rhys. “She’s very soft.”

“Mhmm.” Rhys agreed with a nod. “Her name’s Gortys.”

“That’s a weird name.”

“Yeah, well.” Rhys shrugged. “You hungry?”

 

* * *

 

It turned out that yes, Tim was hungry. He just about ate Rhys out of house and home before he was finally satisfied. Rhys sighed as he looked at the empty fridge before letting the door fall shut. Looks like he’d be going grocery shopping tomorrow and--he glanced at the werewolf laying on his couch--calling out of work again, maybe for the next week.

For now though, it was late; the sun had long disappeared from the sky, draping Rhys’ home with the dark of night. Tim hadn’t moved much from his spot on the couch, but he seemed to be in slightly better spirits. Maybe the painkillers were doing their job, or maybe his natural healing had finally kicked in. Either way, he looked pretty cozy. Gortys was purring away in his lap, and one of Tim’s big hands rested on her head, scratching behind her ears. Tim’s head was tilted towards the TV; he hadn’t been impressed with the cooking channel, so Rhys had switched it over to something he thought might be a little more Tim’s speed. Animal Planet had gone a little downhill in the last few years, but Rhys could admit _Too Cute_ was fun to watch. Tim certainly seemed to think so.

It was strange, watching a man who could literally rip Rhys apart with his teeth, laying back and enjoying a show about baby animals. Rhys decided it would be a bad idea to put too much thought into whether or not the other creatures he’d ‘met’ as a hunter would enjoy such a show. He stepped away from his spot behind the couch.

“I’m heading to bed,” he said. “Let me know if you...uh, need any more blankets or something?” Rhys _also_ decided it would be a bad idea to think too hard about letting an actual, real live werewolf sleep in his house for the night.

When Tim didn’t reply, Rhys turned and headed for the stairs.

Tim’s voice was so quiet he nearly missed it.

“Thank you,” Tim said for the second time that day.

Rhys paused and turned his head back. He wished he could see Tim’s face from here.

“Sure,” he said with some hesitance. Rhys continued his climb to the second story and tried not to think about how this would have gone if he’d met Tim five years earlier. If he’d met Tim when his first instinct wasn’t to help.

Rhys didn’t sleep well that night. While he had never delivered a killing blow to any of the monsters his parents hunted, he’d never think himself as innocent. He’d done their dirty work--found out addresses and friends and family, spied on the lives of people just like Tim.

Rhys threw his arm over his eyes and let out a breath.

That didn’t matter now. He was… _trying._  To do the right thing. He hoped he was.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning when Rhys headed downstairs, Tim was still dozing on the couch. He’d obviously needed the rest--Rhys was no early riser. It was already nearly eleven. Of course, he stirred as Rhys was on the last few steps, the creakalerting Tim of Rhys’ presence. 

“Hey,” Rhys said when Tim’s eyes snapped open and he whirled his head around to look at him. Gortys was nowhere to be seen, probably waiting at her food dish already. “Morning.” 

“...Morning.” Tim said. He shuffled underneath his blanket and sat up with a quiet hiss. Still hurting, then. 

Rhys rounded the couch and got an eyeful of Tim’s chest. It’d be nice to look at, if there weren’t blood soaked bandages wrapped tight around it. “We should change those,” Rhys said, already feeling his stomach roll unpleasantly at the prospect. “I think I have enough left for one change, but I’ll pick some more up when I go to the store.” 

“Store?” Tim asked, not looking at Rhys, picking at the hem of a bandage with one hand. 

“Yeah. The grocery store.” Rhys said. “You kind of ate...everything.” 

Tim rubbed his jaw, and he looked--almost sheepish. 

“It’s fine,” Rhys said. “ I think half that stuff was going to turn bad soon anyway.”

When Rhys pulled the bandages away, the gashes on Tim’s chest looked considerably better. They’d already begun to scab over, bleeding in only a few spots here and there. Rhys pulled a face at the dried, flaking blood that stuck to Tim’s skin. He cleaned it away with a warm, damp cloth and rebandaged the wounds, working slow and gentle. As careful as he was, his fingers still brushed Tim’s chest every once in awhile. Rhys hoped Tim didn’t notice the pink flush crawling up his face. 

Rhys pulled away once he’d finished, putting some space between himself and the werewolf. Tim sighed, his breathing coming a little easier. Rhys watched the way his chest rose and fell with each breath, his eyes trailing downward, to where his blanket rested dangerously low on his hips. 

“Are we going to the store now?” Tim asked, his voice shaking Rhys from his inappropriate thoughts. 

“Huh?” Rhys met Tim’s eyes. “Oh--er, we?” 

Tim rose an eyebrow. “We. Us. You and I. Do you need me to use it in another sentence?” 

Rhys’ face warmed and he scowled. “I know what  _ we  _ means, I just meant--you want to come with me?” 

“I don’t like being…” Tim trailed off and looked away from Rhys. “Cooped up.” 

“O-kay. But you do kind of have some pretty severe injuries and--” Rhys started, watching as Tim leaned forward and started to push the blankets away. 

“Um.” Rhys looked away as Tim stood. Naked. “You--okay. If we’re going to the store, you need to put some pants on.”

Tim didn’t even  _ try  _ to look abashed as he stood naked in Rhys’ living room. He looked down at himself, then back to Rhys. “I don’t have any.”

“Yes, I can see that!” Rhys stepped around him, heading back toward the stairs. “I’ll see if I have anything that’ll fit you--at least put a blanket around your waist or something!” 

It took a little digging but he found an old set of clothes in the back of his closet. Rhys pulled a face as he held the sweatpants up. They were hideous; stained in more places than one and there was a hole on one of the knees. They must’ve belonged to one of his exes--he had certainly never owned a pair of pants this disgusting. It would have to do. If Tim tried to squeeze into any of Rhys’ clothes, he’d rip the seams with those...muscles of his. 

Rhys shook his head and headed back downstairs. 

Thankfully, Tim had wrapped the blanket around his waist and he was standing awkwardly in front of the couch, looking like a lost puppy. 

“Here,” Rhys said, holding the clothes out to him. “They’ll have to do for now, I don’t have anything else that’ll fit you.” 

Tim grabbed the clothing, letting his blanket fall--and then he was naked in Rhys’ living room  _ again. _ Rhys kept his eyes  _ up _ , on Tim’s face. Tim brought the fabric to his nose and sniffed, his nose wrinkling. He didn’t share his thoughts with the class.

“O...kay, so if you could just put those on, any time, that would be great.” Rhys said. Tim shrugged and did just that, sliding his legs into the pants and then gingerly pulling the white shirt over his head. 

Rhys looked him up and down and felt a small pang of regret at covering Tim up so much. He looked...not right, in those clothes. 

“We...are going to have to make another stop while we’re out.”

 

* * *

 

It was nearly a thirty minute drive into town--Rhys’ family home sat on the very outskirts, private and out of sight. He’d considered many times over the years moving closer to the city, closer to work. He kind of liked the commute though, liked his space. 

Tim made no complaints about the length of the drive. He was too busy staring out the window, watching the world go by as if he’d never seen it before. 

When they got to the mall, Rhys led Tim into one of the department stores and avoided the eyes of the employees, hoping they wouldn’t call security on Tim, homeless-looking as he was. Once they were in relative safety between the racks of the men’s department, Rhys turned to Tim. 

“So, what do you like? Colors, fit, style?” 

Tim looked around them, his eyes catching on a black sweater. He reached out to touch it, rubbing the sleeve between his fingers. “This is….a lot of options.” 

“Yes, it’s a clothing store,” Rhys said, pulling the sleeve from Tim’s grasp. “You didn’t answer my question.” 

Tim shrugged his shoulders. “I like to be comfortable.” 

“Comfortable?” Rhys rose an eyebrow. “That’s it? You have no other preferences for the things you wear?” 

“Give me a break,” Tim said a little hotly, his lips pursing together, a red flush making its way up his neck. “I’ve never...I don’t usually…”

“Please don’t tell me you just run around naked all the time.” 

When Tim didn’t say anything to that, Rhys shook his head. “Oh my god.” He turned on his heel and gestured for Tim to follow him. “I don’t know if you live in the woods or what, but in the city, running around naked is a good way to get yourself arrested and put on the list of registered sex offenders.” 

“They have a lot of dogs on that list?” Tim asked.

“Shh, no more talking. Here.” Rhys grabbed two black and blue button-down flannels off a rack and handed them to Tim. “You look like you’re probably a medium-large, so we’ll try both.” Tim took the offered shirts, and then the undershirts Rhys found him a few minutes later, and the pants, and a few more shirts, until he had a decently-sized pile in his arms. 

Rhys directed him to the fitting room with their haul, shooting the employee a charming smile as she handed him a number. They made their way down the hall and to one of the changing rooms. Rhys took the clothes from Tim and hung them on the hook inside, before gently pushing Tim inside the small room. 

“Make sure you come out and show me all of them. Comfortable is all well and fine but if it doesn’t  _ look  _ good…” 

“Whatever you say,” Tim said with no shortage of sarcasm, swinging the door shut. Rhys crossed his arms and backed up to rest against the wall behind him. As he waited, he couldn’t help but wonder where Tim came from. Did he really live as a wolf most of the time? He had no sense of modesty, that was for sure. But he didn’t seem....feral. He knew how to carry himself as a human. Maybe he really did live in the middle of the woods, in some log cabin...that he’d built with his own hands. He had the arms for it, and the back. 

“...Rhys?” 

Rhys blinked away the image of Tim in his mind’s eye. “Hm?” He uncrossed his arms and pushed away from the wall. “What is it?” 

“I can’t…” Tim’s voice sounded strained through the door. “I need some help.” 

The door swung inward, and there was Tim, his shirt rucked up around his shoulders, face pained. It must’ve been too much movement for his wounds; Rhys winced in sympathy. He stepped into the small room and shut the door behind him, only a breath of space between him and Tim. 

“I told you you should have stayed lying down,” Rhys said as he reached for Tim’s shirt and pulled it carefully over his head. He wasn’t bleeding through his bandages at least, but it made Rhys think maybe he should’ve taken Tim to the hospital after all. 

Tim only grunted in response, and sighed once he was finally free of his shirt and could put his arms back down. Rhys was good this time and kept his eyes away from Tim’s pectorals, instead grabbed a shirt off the hanger for Tim to try on. He was careful as he pulled it over Tim’s head, and slow as he helped Tim put his arms through the sleeves. When it was finally on, Rhys pulled at the hem and took a step back to look it over. It was a little on the tight side--but it was an undershirt, meant to have something over it. 

“How’s that?” Rhys asked as he reached for the flannel next. 

“Soft.” Tim said, rubbing the hem of the shirt between his fingers. 

“Here.” Rhys helped him put the flannel on and rolled the sleeves up around Tim’s thick forearms, his fingers brushing freckled skin. It was a good look for Tim--but the sweatpants still needed to go. Tim wouldn’t be able to bend over to take them down, and all the air went out of Rhys’ head at the thought of having to pull them down himself. 

Instead, Rhys snapped his fingers. The sweatpants untied themselves and ripped away from Tim’s legs, leaving them bare. Tim was, thankfully, wearing underwear this time. 

“Uh--” Tim blinked. “Did you just--” 

“Yeah, don’t think too hard about it.” He grabbed the new, clean pair of pants off the hook. “Here, lift your foot.” 

Tim did as he was told and stepped into one pant leg, and then the other; Rhys pulled the slim jeans up until he could fasten the button and zipper at Tim’s waist with a bit of magic, keeping his hands out of reach. 

“You’re a witch.” Tim said once he was dressed and looking very handsome. “I knew you smelled different.” 

“Not bad different, I hope,” Rhys said before he could stop himself. “And I’m surprised you didn’t realize before. You just barrelled right through my wards without even noticing, didn’t you’?” 

“I was a little preoccupied, yeah.” 

Rhys turned Tim to face the mirror. “Well it’s a good thing you ended up on my porch and not anyone else’s, I guess. Animal control would’ve put you down the second they saw you.” 

Tim looked at himself in the mirror. “I’ve never met a witch before.” 

“Probably for the best.” Rhys peered over Tim’s shoulder. “I hear werewolf bones are a popular potion ingredient.” 

The corner of Tim’s mouth twitched upward, and he looked at Rhys in the mirror. “Is that the reason you helped me? To get at my bones?” 

“You wish,” Rhys said, pulling back, looking away from Tim’s eyes and that unfortunately charming half-smile. “C’mon, you still need to try the rest of these on.”

 

* * *

 

Tim looked good in all of the clothes Rhys picked out for him, of course. He ran closer to a medium than a large, and the sleeves on all his shirts were wonderfully tight, showing off the muscles in his arms. Rhys paid for it all with his platinum card, handing it over to the cashier as Tim looked on, the paper bags full of their purchases in his hands. 

Rhys made Tim wear the flannel out of the store, and dumped the horrible outfit he’d been wearing earlier in the trash on their way out. Now Tim looked a little less like a homeless person and a little more like someone Rhys would actually be seen in public with.

He still needed to stop at the grocery store, but as Tim slunk back into the passenger seat in the car, he groaned under his breath, his hand hovering over his stomach as if it might lessen the pain. They’d been out too long already. The last thing they needed was for Tim’s wounds to reopen. 

“We’re skipping the grocery store,” Rhys said as he pulled out of the parking lot. “I can go tomorrow. We’ll order dinner tonight. I don’t want you to bleed out all over those nice clothes I just bought you.” 

Tim didn’t argue with him. 

The ride back home was nice, a little chilly with the windows down, but Rhys enjoyed it. It hadn’t snowed yet but the temperature was rapidly dropping, and Rhys knew it would only be a matter of time before there was a blanket of snow over his house. Tim didn’t say much on the drive back, but he did perk up when Rhys flicked on the radio and a static-filled rendition of some Christmas jingle filled the air. Thanksgiving had only just ended, but Rhys didn’t mind. He’d always liked Christmas. He turned up the volume when he spotted Tim’s foot tapping. 

“Oh, this one’s my favorite,” Rhys said when the next song began to play. He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel as George Michael’s voice crooned out from the speakers. Rhys tilted his head, smiling at Tim. 

Tim smiled back. “I’ve never heard this before.” 

“ _ What _ ?” Rhys asked. “You’ve never heard Last Christmas?” 

Tim only shook his head.

“ _ Wham! _ ? George Michael?” Rhys pressed. Had Tim been raised in a  _ cave _ ? 

Tim shrugged uselessly, and apparently Rhys had said that last part out loud, because Tim said “something like that.” 

“Unbelievable.” Rhys shook his head. They turned off the road and into the driveway of Rhys’ home. “Remind me to play some more for you later.”

Tim didn’t say anything to that, and when Rhys glanced away from him, he realized why.  There was another car in the driveway, blocking them from reaching the garage. It was all black, sleek and polished with windows so darkly tinted, Rhys couldn’t see inside. Two people were standing on his porch, a man and a woman, both dressed in plain clothes but with an air of authority about them. 

The man and woman turned toward them as they came to a stop. Rhys’ hand hesitated on the ignition--he glanced at Tim, whose easy smile was gone, turned into something hard and unfriendly. Rhys looked back at the couple trespassing on his property and killed the engine. 

“Wait here,” he said, and stepped out the car, leaving the door open, his hand resting on the frame of it. “Can I help you?” Rhys asked the strangers. The chill of the air bit at his face, raising goosebumps beneath his collar. His breath curled like smoke. 

The woman stepped forward. “We’re with the Fish and Wildlife Department. We got a call about a wild dog in the area. Were wondering if you’d seen anything.” 

Rhys didn’t flinch, didn’t let his fingers twitch, didn’t glance at Tim. He’d spent years learning to lie without a tell, taught himself to keep his heart rate steady, to stop rubbing his neck. He gave away nothing as he stared them down, didn’t think about who could have possibly seen Tim before, who could’ve called these people. 

“Oh,” Rhys said, pulling surprise and worry into his voice. “A wild dog? Is it dangerous? Has it hurt someone?” 

“It’s very dangerous,” the woman said. “It’s already bit two people; we think it may have rabies. The faster we find it, the better.” 

The man had yet to say anything; he wasn’t even looking at Rhys, but at Tim. Staring at him. 

“I’m sorry, I haven’t seen it. The only wild animal I’ve seen this week was a raccoon going through my garbage.” 

The woman’s hand slid into her pocket and Rhys tensed. 

She pulled out a business card and walked down the driveway to hold it out to him. “If you see anything, give us a call.” Rhys took the card from her, slipped it between his fingers. “Have a good night.” She motioned for her partner, who finally looked away from Tim and followed her to the car. They drove off, back down the road. 

Rhys watched the car until it disappeared past the trees. He looked over at Tim, still in the passenger seat. 

“Friends of yours?” 

Tim wasn’t looking at him, but at where the car had gone, half-turned in his seat. “No.”

 

* * *

 

Tim was on edge for the rest of the afternoon, his shoulders a tense line. Rhys tried to needle information out of him, asking if he’d ever seen those people before, but Tim was tight-lipped. 

Rhys flipped the business card the woman had given him over in his hands. Felicity White, from the Fish and Wildlife department. A phone number was listed beneath the woman’s name, but Rhys somehow doubted it went through to a government line. Rhys tapped the card against his knee with a frown. Tim may have been attacked by another werewolf, but after that visit, there was no doubt in Rhys’ mind that hunters were after him as well. That presented a whole new world of problems. Rhys could ward against the supernatural, sure, but humans were a different story. 

He glanced at Tim, who was leaning back into the couch cushions; he looked far from relaxed. 

“Hey,” Rhys said. “I’ve got one of my friends looking into your whole...situation. We’re going to find out who’s after you, but until we do that, you’ll be safe here.” Rhys titled his head. “Buuuut it might help speed things along if you told me where you came from.”

Tim exhaled through his nose and rubbed his eyes. For a moment, Rhys thought maybe Tim wouldn’t answer. When Rhys continued to look at him expectantly, Tim sighed again. “It doesn’t matter where I came from. The thing that attacked me--the werewolf--wasn’t from there. I’d never seen him before that night. I don’t know why or how he found me.” 

Rhys’ frown deepened. 

“Anyway, once these close up,” he gestured to his chest, “I’ll be out of here, so tell your friend to spare himself the work.” 

“Right.” Like that was going to happen. “Well.” Rhys got to his feet. “Since you’re gonna be staying at least a few more days, you’re going to need to wash all those clothes we bought today. And--” Rhys sniffed, curling his lip, “you should take a bath. You smell like death warmed over.” 

Tim’s expression went flat. “Oh,” Tim said. “Excuse me and my mortal wounds. Don’t want to offend your sensitive sense of smell.” 

“You’re fine,” Rhys said. He grabbed the bag of clothes from where they sat beside the couch and motioned for Tim to follow him. “Come on, the laundry room is over here.” 

Upon entering the laundry room, Tim took a deep inhale, no doubt filling his lungs with the scent of fabric softener and dryer sheets. Rhys directed him to the washer and watched as Tim...did nothing. He stood before the machine, the plastic bag clutched in his hand--then he looked at Rhys, confusion writ across his face.

“This...has been a day of firsts for you, huh?” Rhys asked. He grabbed the bag from Tim’s loose grip and dumped the clothes into the machine, before tossing a detergent pod in along with them. He pointed out some of the settings to Tim before turning the knob and starting up the washer. 

“Please tell me you’ve at least taken a bath before,” Rhys said as they left the small room. He looked Tim up and down. 

“I’ve showered,” Tim said a little tartly. 

“Great. There’s the bathroom.” Rhys pointed to the open door. “Towels are in the closet.” He put his hands on Tim’s shoulders and gently pushed him into the bathroom. “You can use whatever soap is in there.” Rhys pulled the door shut once Tim was inside and then grabbed the phone to order dinner. 

The rest of the night was quiet. They changed Tim’s bandages and ate the pizza Rhys ordered. Gortys wasn’t shy about joining them, climbing onto the couch to beg Tim for some of his food. He gave her a pat on the head, but at Rhys’ stern look, didn’t share any of his pizza with her. 

“So…” Tim said a few minutes later, after Gortys had crawling into his lap. “You’re magic.” 

“Yup,” Rhys said, taking another bite of his pizza.

“Does it run in your family, or?” 

Rhys shrugged. “Not sure. I’m the only one that I know of. My parents weren’t. Never met my grandparents, but they were…” hunters too. Killed by the things they’d given their whole lives to hunt, in the end. Rhys shrugged again and tilted his head to look at Tim. “I promise I’m not going to cut off any of your limbs, if that’s what you’re worried about. Brewing isn’t really my thing.” 

Tim’s lips twitched upward. “Would’ve liked to see you try, string bean.” He leaned back against the couch, getting comfortable. “So what  _ is  _ your thing?” 

Rhys had a thing for muscles. Rhys had a thing for tanned skin and dark hair and broad shoulders. He had a thing for men with thick arms and tiny waists--for men who looked like they could break him in half without breaking a sweat.

“My thing?” Rhys said, the words catching in his throat. He swallowed, tried to steer his thoughts away from the way Tim’s pajama shirt clung to his chest. “My thing is...uh, spells. Mostly.” Rhys brought his gaze back up to meet Tim’s. He wiggled his fingers. “Just small stuff, really. I don’t know any actual incantations, but I can make things appear, or disappear, or make you see something that’s not really there.” 

Rhys held out the palm of his left hand, where a small orange flame burst to life. Tim’s eyebrows went up, and Rhys grinned, always eager to show off. “It’s not actual fire,” Rhys said. “It’s an illusion, but you can feel the heat; it’ll burn you if you touch it.” He looked at Tim, whose eyes had been drawn to the flame, the light of it reflecting in his irises. 

Just as quickly as he’d conjured it, Rhys extinguished the flame. 

“Huh.” Tim said. “That’s a neat trick.” 

“A  _ trick _ , he says,” Rhys huffed. “It’s not always as simple as making a flame appear, you know. My magic is--let’s just say it listens to me. When I really need something...I can make it happen.” 

“Sounds convenient.” 

“Sometimes.” Rhys nodded, leaning back. “Most times it’s just exhausting. The small illusions aren’t a big deal, but anything bigger than that and I need a nap after.” 

Tim snorted. “I know that feeling.”  


	3. Chapter 3

It had been nearly a week since Rhys had found Tim on his patio. Tim was healing, faster every day--the deep wounds had practically vanished, leaving only thin scar lines a shade lighter than Tim’s skin. 

Tim would probably leave soon. Rhys found that he didn’t like the idea as much as he had a few days ago. He enjoyed Tim’s company, maybe more than he should; Rhys liked watching shitty daytime television with him, and he liked how Tim looked in the clothes Rhys had bought for him. Would Tim take the clothes with him when he left, Rhys wondered. The image of a wolf wearing a pair of pants pressed into his mind unbidden, and he snorted.

“Rhys?” 

Rhys blinked and lifted his head. Tim was beside him, his eyebrow quirked, his mouth at an amused slant. “I didn’t realize eggs needed so much concentration.” 

Eggs. Right. Rhys looked down at his pan, at the eggs that were starting to turn a little brown. “Shit,” he said, and reached for the dial, turning off the flame. The toaster dinged and their bread sprang up, crisp and golden. “Can you get that?” 

Tim reached around Rhys to grab two plates from the cabinet, and then the toast. Rhys scraped the eggs out in even portions; he and Tim’s arms brushed as they buttered and jammed their toast.

Rhys had never been big on eating breakfast, but after Tim had told him he’d never had eggs, never had waffles, never had  _ pancakes _ , Rhys couldn’t just let it be. He’d had to do most of the work the first few mornings, but Tim had picked it up pretty quickly and now they could split cooking duties. 

They sat at the dining table with their breakfast; it was still a decent meal, even with the overcooked eggs. Tim didn’t seem to have any complaints, shoveling the food into his mouth as if he were starving. He made these little sighing sounds after every bite, like he’d never tasted anything so good. 

Rhys didn’t want Tim to leave. He wanted to buy Tim everything he’d ever wanted, wanted to dress him in soft clothes, and feed him every dish he’d never tasted. He watched Tim eat, watched how quickly he was cleaning his plate-- _ knowing  _ that once it was empty, Tim’s seat would be too. 

Tim caught him looking. “What?” he asked around a mouthful of toast. 

“Nothing,” Rhys said, looking away, hoping his face wasn’t as red as it felt. He cleared his throat and took a bite of his own toast. “But you should slow down before you choke. I don’t know how to give CPR to a dog.” 

“ _ Hey.”  _ Tim said, swallowing his mouthful. “I’m the only one allowed to make dog jokes.” 

Rhys rolled his eyes, unable to help the fond smile that curved his lips. 

When they finished their breakfast, Tim gathered the dishes, rinsed them off and put them in the dishwasher, just like Rhys had shown him a few days ago. When Tim returned to the dining room, he didn’t sit down. He rested his hand on the back of his hair, leaning his weight on it. His easy smile from earlier was gone, replaced with something a little less genuine. 

“Rhys...thanks,” Tim said. “For everything.” 

Here it was: Tim’s goodbye. Rhys met his eyes across the table. He tried to think of a reason for Tim to stay, even for a few more days, but there wasn’t one.

“You’re welcome,” Rhys said, ready to get it over with. Rip it off like a band-aid. It was just like the last day of every summer camp he ever went to as a kid. You say goodbye to everyone you spent the whole season with, maybe promise to keep in touch, see each other next summer. Then you never see them again. 

Rhys’ phone started to ring. 

It was Vaughn, Rhys already knew from that soft, familiar jingle he’d set ages ago. He looked away from Tim and answered.

“Hey dude,” Vaughn said. He sounded out of breath, like he’d just run a marathon. “I found--uh, I found some stuff out, but--” 

There was a knock at the front door; loud, heavy. Who could that be, this early in the morning? Rhys frowned and glanced at Tim, who was eyeing the door with narrowed eyes, his shoulders tense. 

“Hey, Vaughn, hold on,” Rhys said into his phone. Rhys got up from the table and made his way to the living room, Tim right at his heels. He wasn’t moving fast enough for whoever was outside, because they knocked again, louder this time, almost banging on the door. Rhys wondered if it was those people from the other day, back with reinforcements to take Tim away. He stepped up to the door, breathing deep, channeling magic in his free hand in case he needed to hurt someone. 

Tim was close behind him; Rhys could feel his nervous energy. He was ready to bolt, or maybe fight. 

Rhys peered through the hole in the door.

Hugo Vasquez was standing on his porch. He looked the same as ever--black hair slicked back, tacky suit, smarmy-looking face. Rhys pulled back from the door with a heavy sigh. He let go of his magic, feeling it seep from his fingers. 

“What?” Tim asked from behind him. “Who is it?” 

“Rhys!” Hugo shouted, his voice muffled through the door. “Open up!” 

Rhys pulled the door open, and Hugo’s scowl flipped as soon as he did, replaced by a grin full of teeth. Behind him, Vaughn and Yvette were making their way up the driveway, both looking like they’d been struggling to keep up. Rhys pulled his phone away from his ear and hung up. 

“Rhys!” Hugo stepped over the threshold and into the house. He clapped a hand on Rhys’ shoulder as he passed him. “Long time no see.” There was a duffel bag hanging from his shoulder, which he promptly dumped by the couch before crossing his arms. “Not sure if I like what you’ve done with the place. It’s a little one-note, isn’t it?” Hugo glanced around the living room, eyes roving over Rhys’ blue couch and loveseat, the coffee table.

Rhys pinched the bridge of his nose. “Hugo,” he said shortly. Beside him, he could feel Tim trying to catch his eye. Vaughn and Yvette reached the doorframe next; Vaughn’s breath was coming heavy still, but Yvette looked prim and put-together as ever. 

“Hey,” Vaughn said, an apologetic look on his face as they made their way inside. 

“What’s going on?” Rhys asked, crossing his arms with a frown. He looked back to Hugo. “What are you doing here?” 

“Oh,  _ Rhys _ ,” Hugo sounded positively giddy. “Don’t tell me you haven’t heard about the facility up north. Thought shortstack over here kept you up to date.” He reached out and punched Vaughn’s shoulder. Vaughn scowled and stepped away, rubbing his arm. 

“Well, I  _ was  _ going to call him but you--” 

“Not important,” Hugo waved Vaughn off. “What  _ is  _ important,” Hugo said, “is that some government-owned facility got ripped apart by a werewolf last week.”

Rhys felt Tim go very, very still. 

“It was some kind of lab. They had monsters, Rhys. We don’t know the whole roster, but they had a werewolf locked up tight. Experimenting on it, we figure. Lotsa scientists. All dead, or missing, now. The monsters are missing too, escaped during the attack.” 

Rhys kept his face blank, even as his mind raced with possibilities. Experimentation? Had Tim been in that lab? He couldn’t give Hugo anything. 

“That still doesn’t answer my question,” Rhys said. “Why are you  _ here _ ?” 

“Well, that’s the kicker.” Hugo grinned. “All those monsters? Headed toward the city. We basically tracked them to your front door. At least one of them must’ve passed by you.” 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Rhys kept his eyes on Hugo, not daring to look sidelong at Tim.

“Anywho,” Hugo went on. “I figured hey, Rhys is still at the house. I knew you wouldn’t mind. Hell, maybe you’d even give me a hand.” 

“I…” Rhys scrambled for what to do, what to say. He couldn’t tell Hugo to take a hike, not if what he said was true. If there really were creatures headed to the city. “I don’t do that anymore.” 

“Sure, sure.” Hugo laughed, as if Rhys had told a joke. “Whatever you say.” He picked up his duffel bag. “I’ll toss my stuff in the guest bedroom, and we’ll talk strategy.” Hugo turned and headed for the stairs. 

Tim moved before Rhys could stop him. 

“He didn’t say you could stay.” Tim said, as he blocked Hugo from the staircase. He was frowning, his eyebrows low, his eyes dark and untrusting as he stared Hugo down.

“Oh, he didn’t?” Hugo asked, looking Tim up and down, measuring him up. “And just who are you?” 

“I’m--” 

“He’s my boyfriend!” Rhys blurted out, then resisted the urge to slap his hand over his own mouth. Instead he sidled up beside Tim and curled his hand around his forearm. “Tim.” Rhys said. “My…” He’d laid the cards down. There was no taking them back now. “Boyfriend.” 

Hugo looked between the two of them, his thick brows pinching together. “Boyfriend,” he repeated dryly. “Really?” 

“Yep, really,” Rhys said, forcing a smile. “It’s fine,” he said, pulling Tim aside, out of Hugo’s way. “It’s fine, just--go put your stuff in the guest room.” 

Hugo gave Tim one last look; something dark and calculating that Rhys didn’t like one bit, before he shoved past him, knocking his shoulder, and headed up the stairs. 

Once he was gone, Tim rounded on Rhys. “Who is that guy?” He looked up at Vaughn and Yvette. “Who are  _ they _ ?” Tim looked at Rhys again. “...and since when am I your boyfriend.” 

“Outside!” Rhys hissed, herding Tim and his friends back out the front door and shutting it behind them. He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Okay, okay, okay. Vaughn, Yvette, it’s great to see you guys. This is Tim, he’s the werewolf I called you about.” 

“You...just let him stay here this whole time?” Vaughn asked, taking a few steps back, putting some distance between himself and Tim.

“What was I supposed to do, man? He was bleeding out! I couldn’t just leave him.” 

“He’s a  _ werewolf _ , Rhys,” Yvette said, crossing her arms. 

“I’m standing right here,” Tim said. 

Rhys put his hand on Tim’s shoulder. “Look, I know, okay. I know you’re worried but Tim’s fine, he’s great, he didn’t even try to eat me. We’re not talking about Tim right now. Is Hugo telling the truth? About the facility?” 

Yvette and Vaughn looked at each other. 

“Yeah,” Vaughn said with a sigh. “It was the night of the full moon. The lab had been running experiments on supernatural creatures. A werewolf attacked the place and tore it to bits, killed the personnel. The creatures escaped, and they really did head this way.” 

Rhys frowned. “Why did it attack the lab?” 

“We’re still figuring that out,” Yvette said, her dark eyes landing on Tim. “I think Tim could probably tell us a thing or two. You were in that lab, right?” 

Tim was tense at Rhys’ side, his hands curled into tight fists. He said nothing. 

“Tim…” Rhys eyed the werewolf, then looked at Yvette. “He told me he didn’t know. I believe him.” 

“Rhys--”

“We’ll figure it out. Right now, we just need to make sure Hugo doesn’t find out about Tim.” Rhys turned to Tim. “I told him you were my boyfriend.” 

“Yeah, we were all there for  _ that _ .” Vaughn said. 

“Shush!” Rhys snapped. “Hugo’ll believe it, but that means you have to stay here a little longer.” Rhys said. “If you leave right now, he’ll only get suspicious of you.” 

“Rhys…” Tim started, his shoulders dropping.

“It’ll be one week, two tops,” Rhys pressed. “He’s an asshole but he won’t stay longer than he has to.” 

Rhys honestly wasn’t sure why he’d said Tim was his boyfriend, and not just a friend. It’d been the first thing that came to mind. He couldn’t deny that the thought of Tim staying longer was appealing, though. “Please?” Rhys asked nicely, widening his eyes and biting his bottom lip in that way he knew made him look good, pleading. 

“Okay, okay,” Tim said. He looked away from Rhys, a flush crawling its way up his neck. “If you think it’s a good idea.” 

“It is a good idea.” 

“It really isn’t,” said Yvette. 

“I’m not taking criticism right now!” Rhys said. He turned to Vaughn. “I need you to find out who the other werewolf is, why they came after Tim.” 

“Right,” Vaughn adjusted his glasses. “I’ll work on it, but I don’t know if I’ll find anything out before Hugo does.” 

“Well, call me if you do.” Rhys said. 

“You know Hugo’s going to interrogate every one of those creatures that escaped,” Yvette said. “And he’s going to try to drag you along with him. He wouldn’t stop going on about pulling you back into the game all the way over here.” 

“Ugh.” Rhys frowned. “How many times do I have to tell him I’m not-- _ ugh _ . Please tell me you guys are staying too.” 

“Sorry, bro,” Vaughn smiled, apologetic. “I gotta get home to Oskar. You know how sad he gets when I’m gone. And I’ve already  _ been _ gone for--” 

“Yeah, I know.” Rhys sighed. If Vaughn wasn’t staying, he already knew Yvette wouldn’t either. “Keep me updated, okay? Please?” 

“We always do,” Yvette said. “Don’t do anything stupid.” She glanced at Tim. “Stupider.” 

His friends headed back down to the car, leaving Tim and Rhys alone on the porch. Rhys felt Tim turn toward him once they’d gone, the weight of his questions already pressing against Rhys’ shoulders. 

“Rhys,” Tim started. He paused, like he wasn’t sure where to even begin. He didn’t get the chance to either; Hugo opened the front door. 

“Hey! We have some time-sensitive plans to make. Hurry it up.” 

Rhys groaned, but didn’t argue. “We’ll talk later,” he said to Tim, under his breath. “I promise.” 


	4. Chapter 4

The plan, if it could really be called that, was essentially this: 

Hugo was going to track down the creatures that had headed to the city. He didn’t know how many there were, but he estimated no less than five. Once he caught up with them, he’d see what they knew about the attack, if anything, and then  _ deal  _ with them. Rhys was surprised to hear his plan involved questioning the creatures at all. Hugo had always been in it for the fun, for the power he presumably felt when he held a revolver full of silver bullets. 

“We’ll have to keep on our toes,” Hugo said. He’d taken over the guest room already, his guns all laid out on the desk. “Not sure what we’re dealing with just yet.” He picked up a crossbow from the desk and tugged on the wire. “Might need to make a pitstop to the Underground.” 

Rhys crossed his arms. “Uh,  _ we?  _ I’m not a part of this.” 

“Not a part--” Hugo scoffed. He set the crossbow down, the metal clanking against the wood. “Rhys, of course you’re a part of this. You’ve always been a part of  _ this _ .” 

“Not anymore,” Rhys said firmly, pursing his lips. “I told you I don’t want anything to do with hunting. You can stay until those creatures are out of the city, but after that I want you gone.” 

Hugo shook his head, chuckling without mirth. “If your parents could hear you talk like that--they’d be  _ rolling _ .” He met Rhys’ eyes. “You’re really going to sit this one out, so close to home? You don’t think there’s a reason those monsters headed  _ here _ ? Fate, maybe?” 

“Fate’s got nothing to do with it.” Rhys frowned. “They saw a bunch of bright lights and thought it meant a place to hide.” 

“I think you’ll change your tune soon enough,” Hugo said. “You don’t just leave this line of work, Rhys.” 

“Well, I did,” Rhys said, holding his chin up. Hugo could talk until his tongue fell out of his head. Rhys had no intention of helping him.

Hugo’s eyes were dark, boring into Rhys’ with something tense, unspoken. Like he knew something Rhys didn’t. 

Then Hugo grinned. “You’ll come around. In the meantime.” Hugo clapped his hands together. “What’s to eat in this dump?”

 

* * *

 

Rhys did what he could to keep Hugo as far away from Tim as possible for the remainder of the day. Hugo tried to needle him with questions all the while: “where did you go to school”, “when did you meet Rhys?”, “You live here?”. It was incessant, never-ending. Tim looked paler after every question, pressing his lips together, opening his mouth just to close it again. Rhys took to answering for him, spinning stories about where they met, their first date. It only made Hugo frown though; he obviously wasn’t interested in hearing it from Rhys. 

When it was time to turn in for the night, Tim headed for the couch, where he’d been sleeping the past week. Rhys grabbed his arm and tugged him towards the stairs instead. The door to the guest bedroom was slightly ajar when they passed it, and once they were safely in Rhys’ room, Gortys trailing in behind them, Rhys shut his door tight. 

He turned to face Tim, giving him a smile that he hoped was less awkward than it felt. “It’d be weird if you slept on the couch,” he said. “You should sleep in here until he leaves.” 

“Right,” Tim said, his eyes darting around the room. “About that.” 

“Okay, yes, I promised we’d talk.” Rhys leaned against the door. “Where do I even start?” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Hugo’s a hunter. He kills…supernatural creatures. Vampires, banshees...werewolves.” 

“Right,” Tim said again, voice flat. “That’s why we’re pretending I’m your Normal Human Boyfriend.” 

“Yeah...sorry about that, it was the first thing I could think of.” 

Tim shrugged. “It if keeps him from pulling a gun on me…” 

Rhys nodded. “He won’t do anything to you.” 

“What about you?” Tim asked, his eyes sharp. “It’s pretty obvious you and him used to work together. Do I have to worry about  _ you _ pulling a gun on me?” 

Tim didn’t sound angry--maybe a little on edge, tense. Rhys didn’t blame him. He pushed away from the door and headed to his bathroom. 

“Tim, if I wanted you dead, I would have left you on the patio,” Rhys said as he grabbed his toothbrush. “I did use to work with Hugo, but not just him. My parents were hunters. They died, I quit. I was telling the truth out there. I don’t do that anymore.” 

If Tim replied, Rhys didn’t hear it over the sound of the faucet. “What about you, huh?” Rhys asked around a mouthful of toothpaste. “You were in that lab, weren’t you? Why didn’t you tell me?” 

He heard Tim sigh. “It didn’t seem important before.” 

Rhys looked at Tim’s reflection in the mirror, his unhappy frown. He thought about Tim in a cage, getting poked and prodded by faceless scientists, experimented on. It dug something spiny and sharp into his chest. It left a bad taste in his mouth. He spat out his toothpaste. 

“Is it important now?” Rhys asked, stepping back into the bedroom. 

“No,” Tim said. “Yes. I don’t know. I really don’t know why that other werewolf attacked the place, if that’s what you’re fishing for. But--your friend is lying to you.” 

“What? Who’s lying?” 

“That Hugo guy,” Tim said. 

Rhys tried not to bristle at that. “He’s not my friend.” 

“Well, whoever he is. He’s a liar. There weren’t any other creatures in the lab. It was just me.”

Rhys stilled, brows furrowing together. “But...Vaughn said there were creatures headed for the city.” He frowned. “He wouldn’t lie to me.” 

Tim shrugged. “Maybe they came from someplace else.” 

They must have, if Tim had never seen any at the facility. Maybe it was just coincidence that a group of creatures headed for the city the same night the lab was attacked. Hugo had a habit of jumping to conclusions. Still, Rhys knew they’d have to keep an eye on him. 

He and Tim changed into their pajamas--a loose shirt and shorts for Rhys, and a pair of flannel pants for Tim. The flannel was a matching set, though Rhys couldn’t even begin to think where the shirt might’ve gotten off to as he stared at Tim’s naked chest. It really was something to look at without all the blood. 

Rhys climbed into his bed, pulling back the piles of blankets and comforters. Tim sat down on the floor in front of the closet and stretched his arms over his head, sighing when is bones cracked. 

“What are you doing?” Rhys asked, looking down at him. 

“Uh, getting ready to sleep?” 

“You really think I’m going to make you sleep on the floor?” Rhys raised an eyebrow. “You know how cold it is outside, right? It’s supposed to snow tonight.” He patted the warm, fluffy comforter on his bed. When Tim didn’t immediately get up, Rhys rolled his eyes. “Don’t make me magic you over here.” 

“You couldn’t,” Tim said. 

“I could too.” Rhys reached his hand toward Tim, wiggling his fingers. 

Tim shook his head, but got to his feet and made his way to the unoccupied side of the bed. The mattress dipped under his weight, and once they were both settled beneath the covers, Rhys snapped his fingers and the lights went out. 

“Handy,” Tim said in the darkness. 

“I didn’t actually use magic for that,” Rhys admitted, tilting his head toward Tim even though he couldn’t see him. “The lights are sound activated. You know, clap on, clap off?” 

Tim snorted. “Goodnight, Rhys.” 

Rhys looked up at the ceiling and closed his eyes. He heard Gortys jump onto the bed, and felt her curl up between his feet. 

“Night, Tim.”

 

* * *

 

Rhys was pretty. That’s what Tim had thought when he’d first looked at him-- _ really _ looked at him. After he wasn’t out of his mind from the pain, when he could think clearly again. Rhys had a nice face. A baby face with big eyes and full lips that looked even fuller when he pouted, which was often. 

Tim barely remembered the last time he had a crush on another person. Crush was probably too strong of a word for it; he’d been about ten, and a new tutor had been brought on board back home. Home was maybe too strong of a word, too. He’d had his own bedroom at the lab, full of books and games and a soft bed all to himself. It had felt like a home then. For a while at least.

His tutor was named Dr. Fauany and she dyed her hair red and always wore turtlenecks. She had been pretty--the prettiest person he’d ever seen at ten years old. She’d taught him a lot of things. History, Science, Art. She wasn’t the only or even the first person to show an interest in the things Tim liked - reading, mostly - But she felt the most genuine. Tim still remembered the day she gifted him a copy of  _ To Kill A Mockingbird.  _ He must have read it a hundred times. He wondered if it had survived the attack, if any of his books had. 

Tim inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the nice scent he’d grown accustomed to over the past week. Rhys’ soap, a mix of oatmeal and almond and a hint of honey. Beneath that, Rhys’ own scent, something Tim couldn’t pick a name for. It filled the house, had seeped into every inch of it. 

Rhys was...soft. Warm. 

Tim blearily opened his eyes, blinking the sleep from them. His vision slowly cleared and he frowned when he didn’t immediately recognize where he was. Something solid was pressed against his chest, his arm thrown over it. A pillow, maybe? He blinked again, and was met with a mess of brown hair and the fabric of a loose nightshirt brushing his lips. 

He froze. Rhys’ room. Rhys’ bed.  _ Rhys _ . Rhys, who Tim was currently spooned behind, his arm wrapped around Rhys’ thin waist, his nose pressed against Rhys’ neck. He must have done it in his sleep, because the last thing Tim remembered was staring up at the ceiling. Tim tried not to panic; he heard Rhys’ heartbeat in his chest, slow and undisturbed. He was still sleeping. Tim could just...quietly…carefully....

Tim lifted his arm and slowly extricated himself from his sleeping companion. Once he was free, he rolled onto his back, took a breath, and then climbed out of Rhys’ bed. Rhys apparently slept like the dead, because he didn’t so much as stir. Tim quickly dressed himself, ignoring the thunder of his own heartbeat in his ears, and left the room. 

He crinkled his nose when he was hit by the smell of Hugo, which had begun to invade Rhys’ home the second Hugo had stepped through the front door. It wasn’t pleasant; too sharp in Tim’s nose, like Hugo doused himself in cologne. There was something else, too, though, beneath it all. Something...vaguely familiar that Tim couldn’t put his finger on. 

The door to the guest bedroom was wide open, and when Tim peered inside, Hugo wasn’t there. Tim frowned at the array of weaponry that laid across the desk. Guns, knives, a steel trap with pointed teeth. Just how many ways was he planning to kill the creatures he was hunting? To kill Tim? Tim backed away from the door and made his way down the stairs. Hugo wasn’t in the living room either, or the kitchen. At first Tim thought maybe he’d already gone to the city, to search for his targets, but then Tim caught sight of him through the sliding glass doors that led outside. 

Hugo was standing out in the freshly snow-dusted field between the house and the woods. He was looking down at his feet, kicking at something. After a moment, he crouched down and touched something on the ground. Tim watched him for a long time, listening, but there was nothing to hear. 

“Hey.” 

Tim nearly jumped out of his skin when something touched his arm. He whirled around, eyes wide. It was Rhys. He was freshly showered, his hair still damp, dressed in a form-fitting blue sweater and black pants. 

“Sorry,” Rhys said with a smile, not sounding very sorry at all. “I thought you heard me come down.” 

“It’s--” Rhys was still touching Tim’s arm. “Fine.”

“What were you looking at?” Rhys let his hand drop and peered around Tim’s shoulder.

Tim looked back outside. Hugo was gone.

“Nothing,” Tim said with a shake of his head. “Just the snow.” 

“Ugh,” Rhys passed Tim by and headed for the kitchen. “I do not want to drive in that today.” 

Tim followed him and slid onto one of the stools at the island counter. He watched Rhys pull out some fresh ingredients and toss them into a blender. 

“You’re going somewhere today?” Tim asked with a frown. He didn’t much like idea of Rhys going off on his own with the creatures his friend Vaughn had promised were real running around. 

“We,” Rhys corrected him, pouring a generous helping of almond milk into the blender with his fruit. “We’re going somewhere today. I don’t know about you, but I’m not keen on spending any time with Hugo. If we escape early, he can’t harass me about helping him either.” Rhys turned on the blender, the loud whirring filling the air and Tim’s ears, making him wince. 

Tim barely heard the sliding door open over the sound; Hugo stamped his boots on the patio before stepping into the house, bringing a gust of cold air with him. The blender went quiet just as Hugo took a seat in the stool beside Tim. Rhys lifted the pitcher and turned around, stopping short when he saw Hugo.

“Morning,” Hugo grinned, showing his teeth. 

Rhys ignored him and turned away to grab two glasses from the cabinet, filling them to the brim with the smoothie mix. He took one for himself and slid the other in front of Tim. 

“Smoothies for breakfast,” Hugo said. “Quick meal. You two have plans?” 

Tim sipped his smoothie. 

“We’re going out,” Rhys said finally. He looked at Tim. “How is it?” 

“Good,” Tim said honestly, licking his lips. He’d never had fresh fruit before Rhys had picked him up off the patio. Back at the lab, sometimes he’d get a treat of freeze-dried banana chips or mangoes. He liked the fresh stuff better. “Really good.”

Rhys’ lips twitched upward into the beginning of a smile. 

“Out, huh? Where are we going?” 

It faded just as quickly. Rhys turned his eyes back to Hugo with a huff. “You’re not going with us. Don’t you have work to be doing anyway?” 

“Rhys, you really think I can let you walk around the city right now in good conscience? Those monsters are dangerous. They could be anywhere.” 

“They’re not going to jump us in the middle of the day,” Rhys argued. “Besides, I can take care of myself.” 

Hugo hummed and rested his elbow on the counter, eyes sliding over to Tim, then back to Rhys. “I get it. You want some time with your  _ beau _ . I’ll keep my distance, but you’re not going without me.” 

“Really?” Rhys narrowed his eyes. “You think you can come into my house and tell me what I can’t do?” 

“It’s not your house though, is it? Not really,” Hugo said, that horrid smile never leaving his face. 

Tim downed the rest of his smoothie, looking between Rhys and Hugo, feeling like he was missing something important. Rhys pursed his lips, the look on his face downright murderous. 

“Honestly, Rhys,” Hugo went on. “There’s no reason to be so difficult. I just want to make sure you stay safe; and who knows, maybe we’ll get a lead while we’re out.” 

Tim watched Rhys’ metal hand go tight around his glass, could hear it straining beneath the force of his grip. “Fine,” Rhys said through gritted teeth. “We’ll all go, then.”

 

* * *

 

Rhys begrudgingly let Hugo ride in the car with them. When he went for the front seat, Tim cut him off, leaning his weight against the door and wrapping his fingers around the handle. Hugo opened his mouth and looked ready to argue, but Tim stared him down until he conceded and slunk away to the backseat. Rhys drove them to an outdoor mall this time, with a cobbled walkway that wound its way through the shops. The snow had been cleaned away, leaving the pathway a little wet but easy to walk through. 

Tim blinked when he felt Rhys wrap his warm hand around his own, threading his thin fingers through Tim’s. He looked down at their joined hands, feeling a flush creep up his neck, burning warm against the cold air. Right. Fake boyfriend. 

Rhys ignored Hugo for the most part, so Tim tried his best to ignore him too, but he could always sense him nearby, never more than twenty feet behind him and Rhys. Ignoring him became a little easier when Rhys dragged Tim into one of the shops, an explosion of red and green signs that read ‘happy holidays’ in large text. Tim had never seen anything like it, anything so colorful. Rhys pulled him through the aisles, only stopping when they stood in front of an assortment of paper and plastic decorations, and Hugo was nowhere in sight. 

“So, I have this Christmas Eve party every year,” Rhys said, finally dropping Tim’s hand. Tim tried not to let his disappointment show on his face. 

“I like to get new decorations for it each year,” Rhys went on, reaching out to touch a fake wreath. “So it doesn’t get stale, you know?” 

“Sure.” Tim nodded, even as he racked his brain trying to remember which holiday Christmas was. He remembered mentions of it in some of his books. “Christmas is...Jesus’ birthday?” 

“Well, yes,” Rhys moved on from the wreath to some gold and red ribbons. “But it’s mostly about the presents, and parties, and food. Maybe family.” He paused, and Tim watched as something funny happened to Rhys’ face, like he’d just realized something. “Wait.” Rhys said, turning toward Tim, the ribbon forgotten. “You’ve never celebrated Christmas.” He wasn’t even asking. 

Tim shrugged his shoulders.

“Not even when you were a kid?” 

Tim shook his head with a small smile. “Nope. We didn’t really celebrate anything. Except maybe my birthday. I always got a new book and one of those...uh...granola bars, I think?” 

“A granola bar,” Rhys said, looking at Tim with a flat expression. 

“Yeah.” 

“That’s...depressing. I’m sad now,” Rhys said, turning away with a frown. 

“Sorry,” Tim said, reaching for one of the colorful decorations on the shelf. “Honestly, the granola was pretty good. I looked forward to it, if that makes you feel any better.” 

“Thanks, it doesn’t. Please tell me it was at least the kind with chocolate chips in it?” 

“No chocolate chips.” 

Rhys shook his head. “Unbelievable. Grab that ribbon, and the sign.” 

Tim did and placed them in Rhys’ basket. “Where are we going?” He asked when Rhys turned on his heel and headed down the aisle. 

“To get some candy, keep up!” 

Tim grinned and hurried after him. 

“When is your birthday, anyway?” Rhys asked as they perused the candy section. He’d already thrown a couple bags into his basket, mostly chocolates and a few fruity gummies. 

“July.” Tim said, scanning the shelf. He paused over a candy bar with an orange wrapper. “Reese’s.” He said, grabbing it. “Is this your favorite?” Tim waved the candy in Rhys’ direction.

“Don’t even start.” Rhys rolled his eyes, shoving Tim’s hand away. “It’s just chocolate and peanut butter. Nothing special.” Tim slipped it into the basket anyway. 

Hugo caught up with them just in time to go through the checkout, and he gave the assortment of decorations, sweets, and alcohol the stink eye. Tim was kind of excited for Rhys’ Christmas party--assuming he’d be here for it. He’d never been to a party before. Rhys said it was a lot of standing around and pretending to like people, but there was music, and drinking, and ‘those little finger foods, you know’? Tim didn’t know, but he nodded along anyway. 

Hugo shadowed them every time they went out. Every run to the grocery store, to Rhys’ bank, to the gas station. Tim hated it--hated the way Hugo’s eyes always seemed to be boring into the back of his head. Tim hated that Hugo tagging along always put Rhys in a bad mood. Hugo wouldn’t even leave them alone at the house; he’d insisted on helping decorate, but only stepped in when Rhys asked Tim for help. Stringing up the lights or putting together some plastic reindeer for the yard--Hugo just  _ got there _ before Tim. Tim hated that the most. 

What Tim  _ didn’t  _ hate was when Rhys would sit next to him on the couch and rest his head on Tim’s shoulder. Tim didn’t hate it when they were out and Rhys slipped his hand into Tim’s, his fingers soft and warm, and he’d swing their joined hands between them. When Rhys was looking at Tim, smiling at him, touching him, it was easy to pretend Hugo wasn’t there at all. 

Today, they were out for no other reason than Rhys wanted them to be. It was getting colder, the snow falling from the sky almost faster than people could shovel it off the sidewalks. Rhys was holding Tim’s hand now, but he was wearing gloves, they both were. Sweaters and scarves and hats too--Tim was starting to think Rhys got a kick out of buying him clothes, dressing him. 

They were on their way to lunch at some restaurant Rhys liked. Apparently, they served breakfast all day and Rhys wanted to introduce Tim to the wonderful world of crepes. Rhys’ words. Hugo was accompanying them, but Rhys wouldn’t let him sit at their table with them, not even when the waiter offered to bring over another chair. 

Rhys pulled off his scarf and gloves, and Tim did the same. Rhys had put a warming spell on Tim’s gloves that kept the cold from creeping into them. When he peeled the gloves off, his hands were JUST as warm as they’d been inside, with the heat on. 

“Blueberry is my favorite,” Rhys said, handing Tim a menu. “But they’ve got just about everything.”

Tim opened the menu and looked over the options. Most of the names were in a language Tim couldn’t read. He furrowed his brows, trying to make sense of the words in front of him.

“Parlez-vous  français?” Rhys asked, resting his cheek in his hand, smiling at Tim. 

“Uh.” 

“Scoot over,” Rhys said. He pulled his chair around the table, right next to Tim, and took a seat. Rhys leaned over Tim’s open menu and pointed to each menu item, telling him which fruit this crepe had, and whether this one was sweet or savory. 

It was a lot, even in English. “Um,” Tim cleared his throat, trying to focus through the warm press of Rhys against his side. “Can I just do that--one of each thing?” 

Rhys smiled again. “Oui, monsieur.” 

Rhys’ phone went off. Tim tried not to frown when Rhys pulled away to answer it. He glanced around the small cafe, to see where Hugo had gone off to. He was easy to find, sitting at a small table in a corner. To Tim’s surprise, he wasn’t watching him and Rhys like usual. Instead, he was bent over a small laptop, tapping away at the keys. He did that sometimes, just settled down and surfed the internet or whatever. It seemed like a weird thing to do, considering the whole reason he’d been following Tim and Rhys around was to protect them from some monsters that may or may not actually exist. Tim certainly hadn’t seen or heard anything. 

When he finally turned his attention back to Rhys, it sounded like his phone call was winding down. 

“Okay, great. Yeah, I can definitely snag an invite. Tassiter’s always invited my parents. I’ll see what I can do. Okay, later.” Rhys ended the call and turned to Tim. “Vaughn found out who was funding the lab.” 

“Funding it?” Tim had never really thought about who funded the lab. He’d just kind of assumed it was some government agency. Nameless men in black suits, like the ones who used to come by and watch him sometimes. Always quiet, expressionless. 

“Mm,” Rhys nodded. The waiter came back and took their orders before Rhys continued. “His name is Harold Tassiter. Comes from old money; he’s the current CEO of the Hyperion Corporation, but they make guns and fancy tech...not experiment on supernatural beings, so it must have been something he did on his own.” Rhys turned his mismatched eyes onto Tim, a frown pulling at his mouth. “You don’t know why the lab was attacked, or even why you were  _ there _ ...but he’ll know. He has to.” 

“Okay,” Tim said, swallowing. His mouth felt dry. “How do we get him to tell us?” 

“Luckily,” Rhys said, “he got on pretty well with my parents. Or, with their money anyway. Hyperion has a charity gala every year at Tassiter’s,” Rhys rolled his eyes, “ _ estate _ . My invite is probably in the mail. We’ll go to the event and I’ll see if he’s kept the lab files on his computer. If not, we can just threaten him.” Rhys grinned. “Well,  _ you  _ can.” 

“Is that all I am to you? Muscle?” Tim asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“Not...all.” Rhys said, even as he reached out his left hand to squeeze Tim’s bicep. “You have to admit though, you’re the beef in this twosome.” 

“Beef,” Tim repeated, biting down on his cheek to keep from smiling.

“Grade A,” Rhys said, letting his hand fall. “Anyway, the gala’s next weekend. Which means we need to get you a suit.” 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry i'm bad at answering comments, but I'm glad everyone's enjoying the fic!!
> 
> there's some drinking and violence in this chapter!

A few days before the charity gala, Hugo begged Rhys to go to some bar with him. It’d been nearly an entire week with no sign of any of the monsters in the city. Not a single peep. Tim could sense Hugo’s growing anger and frustration--just yesterday, he’d heard Hugo shouting into his phone at someone. 

Hugo said he’d finally gotten a lead, someone that might know something,  _ anything _ , about the monsters, and they were going to be at that bar tonight. The Purple Skag. Rhys’ face had scrunched up when Hugo suggested he go with, that little wrinkle between his brows making itself known. Rhys had refused at first, but Hugo seemed to have a way of getting Rhys to do what he wanted. Tim hadn’t heard the rest of their argument; Hugo had pulled Rhys outside for it, to speak privately. When they came back, Rhys had an irritated look on his face and he’d told Tim to grab his jacket. 

The bar didn’t look like any place Rhys normally went. It was in a more remote part of the city, the streets lined with run-down houses and empty stores with broken windows. The Purple Skag’s neon light was one of the few things that lit the road, streetlamps far and few between. 

Hugo drove this time which meant, according to Rhys, that he and Tim would be drinking. The inside of the bar wasn’t anything special--it was all wood, mismatched and old, making it look like it should have been sitting out in the country somewhere. It was crowded, though, people pressed together and dancing to music so loud it made Tim’s ears hurt. He searched for Rhys’ hand in the dark hallway that led into the depths of the club, squeezing tight when he found it. 

“August said to find him upstairs,” Hugo shouted over the music, right into Rhys’ ear.

Rhys flinched away from him, rubbing at his ear with a glare. He shouted right back. “I agreed to come with you, not meet with anyone! We’ll be at the bar!” Rhys tugged on Tim’s arm, pulling him through the crowd. Tim grinned at Hugo’s angry expression as he passed him, and then he was gone, lost in the crowd. 

“Okay,” Rhys said, elbowing his way to the bar and sliding into one of the stools. “I’m just going to go ahead and assume you’ve never had a drink before.” He looked at Tim, who could only shrug, smiling sheepishly. Rhys leaned over the bar and waved down one of the workers. 

“Yeah, let me get a grapefruit margarita and…” he glanced back at Tim. “A vodka cranberry.” 

The bartender nodded and started to mix their drinks. Rhys pulled Tim down into the stool beside him and hooked his ankle around the footrest, leaning in close. “Hugo  _ would  _ set up a meeting with someone in a place like this.” Rhys’ lip curled. “It smells like Axe body spray and vomit.” 

“I think you’re imagining that,” Tim said, sniffing for himself. It mostly just smelled like sweat and sickeningly sweet drinks. The bartender returned, placing the two drinks Rhys had ordered on the counter. 

“You want to open a tab?” She asked. Rhys handed over his platinum card and slid one of the drinks in front of Tim. 

“Go on,” Rhys said when Tim eyed the drink warily. “It shouldn’t be too strong, just drink it slowly.” Tim watched Rhys wrap his fingers around the stem of his own drink and take a long sip, the sugar around the rim clinging to his pink lips. 

He looked at his own drink, a bright red concoction with a lime wedge floating beside the ice. Tim brought it beneath his nose and sniffed it and recoiled immediately. 

“Don’t smell it!” Rhys laughed. “It tastes good, I promise!” 

Against his better judgement, Tim pressed the glass to his mouth and took a sip. The alcohol burned his tongue, and then his throat, and Tim coughed once he’d swallowed it. “This,” Tim said, pulling a face, “does not taste good. Why does anyone drink this?” 

“To get drunk,” Rhys said as he downed the rest of his own drink. “It’ll taste better the more you have. Here, gimme that.” Tim handed the drink over to Rhys, who took a sip for himself, pressing his lips over the same spot Tim had drunk from. He tipped the glass, taking a generous gulp, before pulling it away and smacking his lips. “Alright,” he laughed. “Maybe that is a little strong.” Rhys held the drink back out for Tim. “Finish that, and I’ll get you something better.” 

Tim did. He finished the rest of the drink in a few sips, and set the empty glass beside Rhys’. The next drink Rhys passed over to him was a beer, and it was considerably more pleasant going down.

“So,” Tim said, resting his elbows on the bar, tilting his head towards Rhys, who was sipping at his second drink--something just as colorful as the first. “How do you know Hugo anyway? I know you said you used to work together, but he’s really...uh…” 

“Obnoxious? An asshole?” Rhys offered. 

“Yeah.” Tim smiled. His head was starting to feel kind of light, like a balloon filling with air. “He sucks. Why’re you letting him stay?” 

“To answer your first question, I met him when I was in high school. He wasn’t even in the same year as me, but his aunt knew my parents through  _ hunting _ .” Rhys tapped his fingers against his glass. “My parents thought he had potential so they took him under their wing, or whatever. My dad raved about how good Hugo was at everything. God, it was insufferable.  _ Hugo _ was insufferable. Still is.” 

“My parents used to bring us on hunts together, but we always just fought the whole time. After I found out I was...uh, magically inclined, I decided to stop helping them. Felt kind of hypocritical, you know?” 

Tim nodded, leaning in closer, as close as he could, his elbow pressing against Rhys’. 

“Hugo kept up with it though, with them. He was there the night they were killed. He still hunts, even with them gone. I think he’s been tracking the creature who killed them ever since. I don’t  _ like  _ him staying at the house but...it was their like, HQ, for years. He likes to throw it in my face that I wasn’t there to help. I guess I feel guilty enough about it that letting him stay is just...I should, right?” 

Tim really didn’t know, and he said as much. Rhys looked down at his drink. 

“Anyway,” Rhys said, taking a long drink. “It’s my turn.” 

“Your turn?” Tim asked.

“Yeah. Twenty questions. I get to ask you something now,” Rhys said, his easy smile coming back, his face so close Tim could feel his warm breath against his skin.

Tim felt himself smile in return, felt his cheeks warming from more than just the alcohol. “Alright.” Tim said. “Shoot.” 

“Hmm,” Rhys made a show of thoughtfully rubbing his chin. “What was it like? At the lab?” 

“How long have you been dying to ask that?” 

Rhys shrugged, digging his teeth into his bottom lip. “A while, I guess.” 

Tim looked away, tapped the lip of his beer against his mouth. “It was...hm. Probably not as bad as you’re imagining. I had my own room, my own stuff. Lots of books to read. They brought tutors in to teach me about language and history and math. When I was younger, they just had me train every day. Like track something in the woods, learning to control my...ah...shift. That kind of thing.” 

Tim still looked back on his childhood with some fondness. He’d had a lot more freedom, then, was only brought into the lab for testing once a week.

“When I was about sixteen or so,” Tim continued. “They let me in on what I’d been training for. They showed me a picture of someone, gave me his name. They wanted me to kill him.” 

He felt Rhys’ hand curl around his arm. 

“I never knew why they wanted him dead, why they wanted any of them dead. Some were human, some weren’t. Maybe just people they didn’t like, I don’t know. They told me to kill and I did.”

Tim had only refused once, when he was still having bloody nightmares, but they’d forced him anyway. Put a collar around his neck that filled him with bloodlust and smothered him until there was nothing but animal left. He never said no again. 

Tim shook his head, clearing the thoughts away. Rhys’ hand had left his arm, taking his warmth with him.

“What…” Rhys started, then swallowed, looking away from Tim. “What kind of people did you kill?” 

“I don’t know,” Tim admitted. “All kinds, I guess. Whoever my bosses didn’t like. I remember all their faces,” Tim said, and that was true. “I don’t think I could ever forget what they looked like, or smelled like.” 

Rhys glanced at him. “You remember what they smelled like?” 

“Mm.” Tim nodded, suddenly feeling awkward about admitting that. “Everyone smells differently to me. I mean, people use different soap, but their natural scent...that doesn’t change.” 

“What do I smell like?” Rhys asked, his face the picture of perfect innocence. 

“I...can’t really put a name to it.” Tim flushed, looking away from Rhys’ bright eyes. “You smell like…” Home, Tim almost said. He bit his tongue and instead said: “I’ve never smelled anyone like you.” There was a beat of silence, and Tim realized how that sounded. “Sorry, I know that’s--uh, weird. Not--not in a bad way, or anything. You smell really good, I promise. God, sorry. That’s not--um.” 

“Tim,” Rhys said, his voice soft and close. He laid his hand over Tim’s. When Tim looked at him, he was smiling again.

“Sorry,” Tim said again, offering a weak smile in return. 

“No, you’re right,” Rhys said. “I smell fantastic. Do you know how expensive my soap is?”

“Very?” Tim said, and maybe it was the alcohol or maybe it was just him imagining things, but it seemed like Rhys was getting closer, pushing his way into Tim’s space, his mouth close enough to kiss. 

“Very,” Rhys said. 

Tim could feel his heart pounding in his chest, could smell the sweet liquor on Rhys’ breath, could feel his lips tingling.

Something hard hit Tim’s shoulder, and his elbow slipped on the bar. He lurched sideways, nearly dropping his beer and falling out of his stool all at once. 

“Hey, watch it asshole!” Rhys shouted at someone over Tim’s shoulder, sounding so very far away. Tim righted himself in his seat, his face burning and his hand covered in sticky beer. Rhys handed him a napkin. Tim took it gratefully and cleaned himself up as best he could.

“It’s your turn,” Rhys said when Tim finished. “Ask me something.” 

Tim laughed, some of the tension draining out of him along with the disappointment of their interrupted moment. “Alright...so what  _ is  _ your favorite candy?”

 

* * *

The conversation lightened considerably after that. Tim could feel the alcohol thrumming through him, making it easy to ask Rhys every silly question he could, and answer Rhys’ in return. Even when Rhys asked him things like: had Tim ever kissed anyone before? Had Tim ever had a boyfriend before? A girlfriend? 

The answers of course had been no, no, and no. 

Tim asked when Rhys’ birthday was. (January 14th.) He asked how many boyfriends, or girlfriends, Rhys had had. (The number was a lot higher than Tim’s). The very last question of their game was Tim’s, and he asked if Rhys read, and what his favorite book was. 

Rhys laughed, his fingers wrapped around the glass of his third (fourth?) drink. “I don’t think I’ve actually read a book since...college? I could tell you about the buzzfeed quiz I took the other day, though. ‘What Expensive Cheese Are You?’ I got Caciocavallo Podolico.” 

“Cac...what.” Tim couldn’t even try to begin pronouncing that. 

Rhys waved him off. “Anyway, I don’t really read. You can ask me another question if you want.” 

“I can’t think of anything else,” Tim said with a shrug.

“Ha, alright. Save it for when you think of something.” Rhys smiled and slid out of his stool. “I gotta go to the bathroom. We should head out soon, I’m getting tired of this place.”

“Should I go find Hugo?” 

“Nah,” Rhys said. “We’ll take a Lyft. I’m tired of him too. Be right back.” 

Tim watched Rhys turn on his heel, headed towards the restroom. He shook his head and finished the rest of his lukewarm beer, glancing around the bar. The crowd had thinned somewhat since they arrived; Tim could see all the way to the front door now. He couldn’t spot Hugo anywhere, and he wondered how long his meeting could possibly take. Tim’s thoughts inevitably turned to Rhys. Maybe he shouldn’t have told him so much about the lab, about the things he’d done. But Rhys hadn’t recoiled or turned him away, even in that split moment of unsure tension. Rhys...trusted him. Liked him, even. Tim hoped. Tim wondered how much longer Hugo would be staying at Rhys’ home...how much more time he had before he’d have to leave.

It wasn’t like Tim had anywhere to go, a fact that weighed heavy on his mind every time he thought about what to do after. After Rhys. Tim didn’t know anybody, and he sure as hell was never stepping foot in the lab again--assuming it was even still standing after that other werewolf was through with it. 

“You want another one of those?” The bartender’s voice shook Tim from his thoughts. She gestured to the empty beer bottle in front of him. 

“Oh, no thank you. I think we’re leaving,” Tim said.

The bartender nodded. “I’ll close out your tab then.” She stepped away. 

Rhys still hadn’t come back, Tim realized, looking at the empty stool beside him. Tim frowned, and looked toward the restrooms. Had Rhys come out already? 

Tim got up from his seat, his feet a little unsteady beneath him, and weaved his way through the people between him and the bathroom doors. He inhaled, trying to pick up Rhys’ scent. It was still strong. He was still in the bar. When Tim reached the long, dark hallway that led to the restrooms, he almost didn’t see Rhys. 

There was a man, tall and broad-shouldered with a black leather jacket, caging someone in against the wall. One of his hands was pressed next to their-- _ Rhys’ _ \--head and the other was wrapped tight around Rhys’ side. The man Tim didn’t recognize was leaning in real close, his face inches from Rhys’. 

Tim growled, low in his chest, his hands curling into fists. 

“Mm, you got legs for days, dont’cha sweetheart?” The man said, and the hand on Rhys’ waist started to travel south, trailing down Rhys’ thigh. Rhys’ flushed face was twisted into an expression of disgust, and he opened his mouth, looking ready to yell.

Tim grabbed the back of the man’s jacket, his claws digging into the fabric as he threw the man to the ground. 

The man let out a surprised shout when his back hit the floor. He got his hands beneath him and glared up at Tim. “What the hell, man?!” The stranger shouted too loudly as he scrambled to get back on his feet.

“Back. Off,” Tim said, baring his teeth. 

Leather Jacket Guy’s glare only intensified. He took a step forward, into Tim’s space. He was taller than Tim, just by an inch or so, but he used the extra height to look down at Tim.

“You got a problem?” The guy asked, puffing his chest out. He gave Tim a solid shove. Tim stumbled back, nearly losing his footing, the floor tilting dangerously beneath him. He caught himself on the wall and shook his head, trying to clear it. 

The man was still there, still too close to Rhys. Tim growled and lunged forward, grabbing him by the lapels and slamming him against the wall. The guy grunted in pain, the anger in his wide eyes dying, replaced by fear. He threw his arms up in surrender. “Jesus, man, okay--I’m not--I’m not tryn’a start anything--” 

Tim pulled his lip back in a snarl, tightening his grip on the man’s jacket until he could hear the seams popping. He tossed the man away, back toward the more crowded area of the bar. The guy stumbled in his haste to retreat and didn’t look back. 

Once he was out of sight, Tim turned to Rhys. He was still leaning against the wall, and he looked at Tim with wide eyes. 

“Are you okay?” Tim asked, looking him up and down, checking for any sign of injury. 

“Teeth.” Rhys said, and his face looked even redder than it had a moment ago. He reached out with his left hand and touched Tim’s bottom lip. Tim shut his mouth, hiding his teeth away. He breathed out and ducked his head, pressing his nose against Rhys’ palm. He swallowed and moved in closer, into Rhys’ space, and buried his nose into Rhys’ neck, inhaling deeply. Rhys’ scent was like a balm, soothing his nerves. Tim felt his claws retract into his nails, and then his teeth slowly shrank, back to normal. 

“Are you okay?” He asked again, pulling back to look Rhys in the eye, brows furrowed together. 

“Yeah, yeah.” Rhys flapped his hand. “That was...hah, wow.” His eyes were stuck on Tim’s lips. “I’ve never seen you do that before.”

Tim looked away, embarrassed. “Sorry. I don’t--he was touching you--”

“Don’t say sorry,” Rhys said. “I liked it.” 

“Oh,” Tim said, mouth suddenly feeling very dry. He looked at Rhys again. Rhys smiled. 

“Hey!” Hugo’s voice was loud. Tim jumped back, putting some space between him and Rhys. Hugo was standing at the end of the hallway, an irritated scowl on his face. “I’ve been looking all over for you.” He looked pointedly at Rhys. “August was fuckin’ useless, so there’s no point sticking around this shithole. Let’s go.” 

Rhys rolled his eyes. “You were meeting with  _ August _ ? Seriously? I could have told you you wouldn’t get anything out of it.” 

Hugo crossed his arms. 

“Just go without us,” Rhys said, waving him off. “We’re having fun. We’ll get a Lyft home later.” 

Tim didn’t know what it was--maybe Hugo was too annoyed, maybe he was tired--but he didn’t argue. 

“Fine,” he said and stalked off, out toward the front door. 

And then Tim and Rhys were alone. Without a chaperone for the first time in a week. They shared a look, and there was something conspiratorial in Rhys’ eyes. He grabbed Tim’s hand, they picked up his card from the bartender, and left out the back door. 

It was cold outside, the chilled wind smacking Tim in the face and making his teeth chatter. Rhys’ hand was warm, though, and Tim followed him into the snow, back to the sidewalk. 

“Are we going home?” Tim asked. 

“In a bit,” Rhys said, pressing against Tim’s arm. “Let’s take a walk.” 

“It’s cold,” Tim said, looking over Rhys’ thin sweater, hardly fit for below-freezing weather. 

“Keep me warm then,” Rhys said, turning a smile on Tim. His cheeks were already red from the cold, or maybe it was still from the alcohol. 

They kept walking. 

Rhys never let go of Tim’s hand, even with Hugo far behind them, even when they didn’t have to pretend.  

“So,” Rhys said, his breath curling like smoke into the night air. “Did you ever think of another question?” 

Right. The game. A million questions popped into Tim’s head, each one more embarrassing than the last. He passed them over, struggling to think of something that wouldn’t get him laughed at--that wouldn’t make Rhys let go of his hand--but he was coming up blank. He opened his mouth, ready to blurt out something stupid, like what was Rhys’ favorite food, or his favorite song.

Tim stopped and shut his mouth, his spine going stiff when the smell of blood hit his nose. Blood and something foul, like decay. He looked out across the darkened street, eyes darting to every corner, looking for the source. 

“Tim?” Rhys asked, his voice far away. “What’s the matter? Cat got your--”

Tim shushed him and ignored Rhys’ upset pout. “There’s something here.” The smell wasn’t just death, but suffering, too. Like an animal that had been shot and left to die. Tim pinpointed the scent to an alleyway across the street; he couldn’t see as well in the dark in his human form, but he could make out some dark shapes, and one of them was moving. 

He considered telling Rhys to stay put, tell him to go back to the bar, but what if there was something else waiting for them in the dark? Watching them. Tim tightened his hand around Rhys’ and tugged him across the street.

“Tim!” Rhys said in a harsh whisper, his teeth clicking together. Tim stopped abruptly in front of the alleyway and felt Rhys run into his back with an  _ oof _ .

“It’s down here.” Tim said. 

“ _ What  _ is?” 

“Nothing good.” 

“So why are we going towards it?!” Rhys hissed in Tim’s ear. Tim barely heard him over the sound of both their heartbeats, pounding fast. 

Something in the alleyway started to growl, and bright yellow eyes peered out from the darkness. Tim thought about shifting, his hackles raised, the hairs on his neck standing on end. He couldn’t bring himself to let go of Rhys’ hand. 

The creature stepped forward, into the light. It was down on all fours, covered in black fur matted with blood. It looked almost like a wolf, but its legs were too long and its spine made too much of an arc--like it should’ve been standing upright. There were large patches of missing fur and its skin hung off it in chunks. Tim could see the bones of its ribcage. There were too many teeth in its mouth. Now that it was out in the light, Tim saw that it didn’t have only two eyes, but at least five. All solid yellow, no pupils. 

It snapped its jaws, drool foaming around its teeth and hitting the ground when it growled at them again. 

“Tim.” Rhys said in his ear, his voice strained, metal hand clutching at Tim’s arm. 

The creature took a step towards them, its legs unsteady beneath it. Tim took a step back, pushing Rhys further behind him, shielding him from the creature’s gaze. 

It lunged towards them, snapping and snarling like a rabid animal. Tim pushed Rhys aside just as the creature barrelled into him with all its force. Tim grunted as he hit the ground hard, sharp claws digging their way into his chest. He grabbed the creature’s jaw, those teeth only inches from his face, its breath reeking of blood and flesh. Tim snarled back at it and his nails sharpened into claws. He dug them into the creature’s skin; it didn’t even flinch, relentless in its mission to tear into him. He needed to get some leverage, to throw it off and get free so he could change. So he could protect Rhys. 

Then the creature was gone, thrown to the side in a sparkle of blue electricity. It hit the ground hard, and Tim heard something crack. Tim quickly sat up; the creature was lying on its side, deathly still and quiet. He turned his head the other way to see Rhys, his finger tips sparking and his eyes wide. Rhys was breathing heavily, his chest heaving with it. He looked like he’d just run a mile. He looked like he’d seen a ghost. 

“Rhys?” Tim got to his feet. He wrapped his hand around Rhys’ outstretched wrist, feeling his magic pulse against his skin. “Are you okay?” Tim looked him over, but didn’t find anything out of place. 

Rhys blinked, finally looked at Tim as if he’d only just realized he was there. “Your shirt.” Rhys said. His eyes were still wide. 

Tim looked down at himself, at the clothes Rhys had bought for him. They were shredded, and blood was welling up from where the creature’s claws had dug in, soaking the fabric red. Rhys pulled his hand from Tim’s grasp and pulled out his phone. 

“We need to go.” Rhys said. “Right now.”

 

* * *

 

“Hugo!” Rhys shouted as he threw open the front door. Somewhere along their Lyft ride home, his wide-eyed shock had turned to anger, and he burst into the house in a flurry of it. Tim quietly shut the door behind them and followed Rhys up the stairs. 

Rhys nearly knocked the guest bedroom door down, but Hugo opened it before he got the chance, already dressed for sleep. There was an irritated pinch between his dark brows, and it only intensified when Rhys got in his face. 

“Abominations!” Rhys said through gritted teeth. He hit Hugo’s chest. “When the hell were you planning on telling me those ‘escaped creatures’ were  _ Jack’s  _ abominations!?” 

Hugo snatched Rhys’ hand, keeping him from hitting him again. His expression smoothed out into something bored. “What does it matter to you?” He asked, his voice frustratingly calm. 

Rhys tore his hand out of Hugo’s grasp and jabbed him in the chest with a finger. “Shut up! You think this is funny?” 

“Of course not,” Hugo said. “You told me you weren’t interested in hunting. I didn’t think you’d care.” 

Tim could see Rhys shaking with the force of his anger, and it rolled off of him in hot waves. 

“I should kick you out,” Rhys said, lowering his voice. “I should make you sleep out in the snow.” 

“But we both know you won’t,” Hugo said, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. Tim wanted to hit him. “You’re going to help me round up the rest of the abominations, and then you’re going to help me find Jack and kill him.” 

Tim couldn’t see Rhys’ face from here, but his mute outrage was palpable. Tim heard him take a breath. 

“Jack attacked the lab,” Rhys said, once his breathing was under control again. 

“Yes.” 

“Jack’s somewhere in the city.” 

“Definitely.” 

All at once, the tension and anger in Rhys’ body flooded out of him. His shoulders fell and he took a step back. “Great,” he said. “That’s just fucking great.” Rhys turned away from Hugo and rubbed at his face. “Do you have any idea where he is?” 

“I’m working on it,” Hugo said a little tartly. “He hasn’t attacked anyone else, and it’s not as if we know what he looks like.” 

Tim looked back and forth between the two of them, feeling, again, like he was being kept out of the loop. Who was Jack? Why was Rhys so upset about him? 

“After the gala,” Rhys said. “After we get more information, I’ll call Vaughn and Yvette and we’ll come up with a plan.”

“Fine,” Hugo said. 

“Fine,” Rhys replied with a frown. He turned on his heel and walked into his bedroom, shutting the door with a little more force than necessary. 

Tim was left alone with Hugo in the hallway; his dark eyes narrowed, boring into Tim with disdain. In the silence, Tim could hear Hugo’s heart, pounding loudly against his ribs. Hugo said nothing, and Tim didn’t stick around to see if he would. He followed Rhys into his bedroom. 

The bathroom door was closed, a sliver of light peering out from beneath it. Tim could hear the sound of the tap running, of Rhys brushing his teeth. He thought about Hugo, about his rabbit heart, about that familiar smell on him that left Tim’s stomach in knots. Tim needed some answers. He changed into his night clothes and crawled onto his side of Rhys’ bed, and waited.

When Rhys finally emerged from the bathroom, he was dressed in his own pajamas, his face damp. Tim watched Rhys unhook his cybernetic arm and set it on the table, connecting it to its charging station. Then he climbed into bed, but instead of laying down, he sat cross-legged, facing the foot of the bed. He didn’t say anything, just picked at the comforter with his fingers. 

“Who’s Jack?” Tim asked, when he couldn’t stand the silence any longer. 

Rhys tilted his head to one side, the muscles in his back constricting as he sighed. “Jack killed my parents. He’s killed a lot of people.” 

Tim sat up, letting the sheets pool around his waist. “He’s a werewolf,” Rhys went on, “but I think you knew that already.” Tim did. He remembered the snarling face of the other werewolf, bigger even than Tim, an ugly scar bisecting its face. It hadn’t seemed like an important detail at the time, but now Tim felt like he should have told Rhys. Then Hugo wouldn’t have gotten away with lying about it. 

“People have been after him for years,” Rhys said. “But he’s good at hiding. Doesn’t have a pack. No one knows what his human form looks like.” 

“And…” Tim faltered, trying to piece everything together. “He’s responsible for that thing that attacked us earlier?” 

Rhys nodded, finally looking at Tim. “There’s something wrong with his bite. It’s like an infection. It doesn’t just turn people into into werewolves--it burns their mind out, turns them into one of those abominations. They never last long; they usually go on a rampage for a few days after they’re bitten, a week at most. But they’re not made to last. They start to die the second Jack sinks his teeth into them.” 

Tim could see that. The creature had smelled like decay, like it’d been left to rot. 

Jack had tried to kill him. Had busted into a high-security lab to do so. Tim wondered what would have happened if Jack had gotten his teeth into him instead of his claws. He wondered if that’s why Jack had come to the city--if he was still looking for him, or if he was after something else. 

Tim swallowed. “He...he can’t get here though, right?” He asked. “Through your wards?” 

“No,” Rhys said, and it sounded like he meant it. “He shouldn’t be able to break through. I think he would’ve done it already if he could, if he’s still trying to kill you.” 

“Why  _ is  _ he trying to kill me?” Tim asked. 

Rhys sighed again. “I don’t know. But we’re going to find out.” 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> things get a little violent this chapter :^)

The night of the charity ball finally arrived, and Rhys had both of their suits ironed crisp. Rhys told him that they were both Italian cut, whatever that meant, and they both got dressed. It was more layers than Tim had ever worn in his life and when he slid his blue tie around his neck, he was at a complete loss for how to wear it. 

Rhys was already looking in his full-length mirror, tightening his matching tie around his neck. He must have sensed Tim staring, because he turned and smiled. “Come here.” 

Tim awkwardly shuffled up beside him. The suit fabric was soft; silk, Rhys had said, but Tim felt out of place in something so nice. It made him feel stiff, like he shouldn’t move his limbs too much or too quickly, or he’d ruin it. 

Rhys’ hand on his shoulder was warm, and he made Tim face the mirror for a moment, looking him up and down. “This was a good pick,” Rhys said. To himself, Tim was pretty sure. Rhys turned Tim towards him and grabbed the ends of his tie. Tim tried to follow how he knotted the fabric, but it was hard to focus with Rhys’ fingers just barely grazing his neck, a soft touch there and gone in an instant. Rhys pressed the knot against Tim’s throat, and then let his hands slip downwards to button Tim’s jacket.

They’d been on high alert since the news about Jack, constantly looking over their shoulders. Rhys had gone out and checked over his wards every evening before bed, just in case. The charity gala wasn’t for fun of course, but Tim thought it was nice at least, to get dressed up with Rhys. Tim remembered when Rhys showed him the invitation--shiny gold, raised lettering on a cream colored envelope. His name was written in loopy cursive, and at the bottom it said he was allowed a plus one. Hugo had argued, said it should be him going to the gala with Rhys, but Rhys had only handed the fancy letter to Tim and told Hugo to stuff it. 

Hugo was still angry when they arrived at Tassiter’s very large estate. Tim could see his hands tightening around the steering wheel, even from the backseat. Hugo wasn’t allowed to accompany them inside, but he would be waiting for them, probably so he’d be the first to know any information they got out of Tassiter. 

Tassiter...Tim had never heard his name before, had never seen him come to the lab. He couldn’t help but wonder why the person funding his prison was so uninterested in him. Of course, as soon as he thought it he knew that wasn’t right. His killing orders would have come straight from Tassiter--he must have kept the distance to keep his hands clean. 

“Okay, here’s the plan.” Rhys said when they pulled up into the line of cars in front of the estate. “We’re going to go in, schmooze a bit, and then we’ll sneak upstairs to his computer and try to find some files on the lab, and you.” He looked at Tim. Rhys’ hair was gelled back into an almost perfect coif; only a few strands escaped, hanging over his forehead. 

“I have...a guy,” Hugo said from the driver’s seat. 

“A guy?” Rhys asked, turning away from Tim. He had his eyebrow raised in that way that meant he was unimpressed. 

“Yes, a guy.” Hugo repeated himself. “He’ll make sure you get to the computer without being seen. Wait for him to find you, alright? Don’t do anything stupid.” 

“Yeah, you saying that makes me want to talk to your guy even less,” Rhys said. The passenger door was pulled open by a young man in a nice suit, and he gestured for Rhys’ hand. Rhys gave Hugo one last look before he stepped out of the car. When the back door opened, Tim followed Rhys out and to the front steps. Rhys looped his arm around Tim’s elbow and smiled prettily at the attendants in front of the large estate doors. He had their shiny invitation in his free hand, but as soon as the attendants saw Rhys’ face, they were already stepping aside to let them enter the house.

“Do you know them?” Tim couldn’t help but ask as they made their way into the marbled hall. He glanced back at the attendants. 

“No,” Rhys said, tugging Tim along. “But they know me.” 

The inside of the estate seemed even bigger and grander than the outside. Tim had never seen anything so ostentatious. Crystal chandeliers hung from the high ceilings and two golden staircases led to the floor above. They were herded toward the left corridor with the rest of the guests, all dressed in their finest. There was another doorway; this one led into a ballroom with a small stage at one end, and fancy tables arranged around a circular dance floor. 

“Wow,” Tim said. 

“It’s a little much, isn’t it?” Rhys asked, one eyebrow raised. “I still don’t even know what charity this is for. One of the children’s ones, I think?” 

“Wasn’t it on the invitation?” Tim asked. Rhys shrugged and pulled Tim along by his elbow again, this time over to a table near the wall. There were two women behind it, sparkling with jewelry. When they noticed Tim and Rhys approaching, they smiled brightly, showing off their white teeth.

“Good evening. Would you like to enter the raffle?” The dark-skinned woman on the left asked. She gestured to a large bucket that had a few tickets in it already. “The grand prize is a trip for two to the Bahamas.”

“Of course,” Rhys said with a smile. “We’ll get ten tickets.” 

The woman ripped tickets from the roll and handed Rhys ten of them. Rhys tucked them into his breast pocket and led Tim away, toward the dining tables. 

“A trip to the Bahamas? That sounds nice...and expensive,” Tim said.

“Mm,” Rhys hummed in agreement. He stopped them at one of the tables and picked up a name card sitting on one of the nice plates. “Those raffle tickets usually run about $1500 per.” 

“Fif--Fifteen  _ hundred _ dollars?” Tim’s mouth dropped open. “That’s insane.” 

“It’s for charity,” Rhys said with a shrug, as if spending thousands dollars was nothing. To him it probably wasn’t. Rhys had told Tim he was rich, but Tim hadn’t realized just  _ how  _ rich Rhys was. “This is us,” Rhys said as they stopped in front of one of the dining tables. Resting on the plate in front of him was a small name card that read  _ Rhys Oliver  _ in a fancy golden script.

Tim looked down at the plate at the next seat over, at the name card there.  _ Tim Oliver _ . 

“That’s not my last name.” Tim said, feeling a little dizzy at seeing his and Rhys’ names together. 

“I forgot to ask when I was filling out the RSVP,” Rhys said, taking a seat. “Sit down.” 

Tim did, sliding into his chair a little stiffly. Tim Oliver. He’d never get that out of his head. 

“So what  _ is  _ your last name? Do you have one?” Rhys asked, tilting his head.

Tim swallowed and picked up the name card, gently setting it on the tablecloth. “It’s Lawrence. I think.” When Rhys looked at him expectantly, Tim continued. “They never called me by the full thing. I saw it printed on a few files. Timothy Lawrence.” 

“That’s a nice name.” Rhys smiled. “Sounds better than Tim Oliver for sure.” 

_ I don’t know about that _ , Tim thought. Before he got the chance to do something embarrassing, like say how much he liked seeing his name in front of Rhys’, someone clapped Rhys on the shoulder and greeted him. He was an older man, his hairline receding past his ears.

“Rhys! It’s great to see you. It’s been years…” 

Rhys turned in his chair and started talking to the older man, leaving Tim to his own devices. He listened for a few moments, but the conversation quickly turned to work and Tim tuned it out, looking down at his cutlery. There were at least four of each type. Who needed so many different forks for dinner? 

“This is Timothy.” Rhys rested a warm hand on Tim’s shoulder, still smiling at the older gentleman. “My husband.” 

“Oh my, I had no idea you’d gotten married!” the man said. “Congratulations!” 

“Thank you,” Rhys said breezily, as if it was the truth and not an outrageous lie that made Tim’s heart clench. “We wanted to keep under the radar.” 

“Of course, I understand.” The man smiled, nodding. He and Rhys exchanged a few more words before the older man excused himself. Once he was gone, Rhys turned back to Tim, his smile dropping into a frown. 

“God, I hate that guy,” he groused. “He was friends with my parents, used to come to lunch with us all the time.” 

Tim was barely registering what Rhys was saying. “Um.” He could feel himself warming under the lights. “We’re married now?” 

“Well why else would we have the same last name?” Rhys asked, leaning in. “But if we’re being honest, if we  _ did  _ get married, I would definitely take your last name. I can’t picture you as Timothy Oliver.” 

“Rhys Lawrence sounds nice,” Tim croaked. He was definitely red in the face; he had to be. Tim could  _ feel  _ the heat in his cheeks. 

“Rhys Lawrence,” Rhys repeated to himself, under his breath. He pulled away from Tim and reached for his water glass, taking a sip and looking out at the other guests. 

In Tim’s defense, he tried  _ really  _ hard not to think about what it would be like to actually, for real, be married to Rhys. He tried not to think of waking up to his sleep-creased face every morning, to the sizeable puddle of drool on his pillow. Tim didn’t think about sliding a golden band around Rhys’ ring finger, or about going on a honeymoon after their wedding. Some place tropical, with a beach. Tim had never been to a beach. He and Rhys would swim in the ocean and lay in the sun and Rhys would put his hands on Tim’s face and pull him in and kiss him--

Stop it, Tim hissed at himself in his head. Rhys isn’t even your boyfriend. Rhys was just...a friend. A temporary friend. Tim was a monster, more animal than human. Once this business with Jack was over, he’d get out of Rhys’ hair and let him get back to his life. Tim didn’t get to think of him like that, like Rhys would ever actually love him.

“There’s Tassiter,” Rhys whispered, breaking Tim from his thoughts. Tim swallowed and looked up, following the line of Rhys’ slim finger. 

Tassiter was a tall, skinny man with slicked-back dark hair. His face was sharp and almost gaunt, like he spent his free time haunting a graveyard. He had a hideous little goatee sticking out of his chin. Tim wasn’t sure what he was expecting the Hyperion CEO to look like, but it wasn’t that. Tassiter had a small entourage with him, mostly larger, buffer men. Bodyguards. He was deep in conversation with a woman near the stage, his hands behind his back, clasped together tightly. 

“The doors’ll be guarded all night,” Rhys said, leaning back in his chair. “We’ll have to sneak out during the auction, probably. Or,” he made a face, “wait for Hugo’s guy to find us.” 

“When’s the auction?” Tim asked, still looking at Tassiter. He wanted to talk to him, face to face, not run away and steal files off his computer. Tim wanted to look him in the eye, and take the answers to his burning questions by force if necessary. Tim wanted to know who he was, where he came from, why Jack was trying to kill him. Most of all, he wanted to know why  _ him _ . 

Rhys touched Tim’s shoulder, and Tim blinked, tearing his gaze away from Tassiter. He uncurled his hands from the tight fists he’d made.

“The auction is after dinner,” Rhys said, meeting Tim’s eyes. “Which isn’t for another thirty minutes at least. You should relax a little.” 

Tim opened his mouth to argue.

“I know, we’re here to work.” Rhys cut him off easily. “But part of the job is waiting for the right time. So.” Rhys smiled. “We’re going to get a couple drinks, we’re going to eat some great food, we’re going to dance--” 

“Dance?” 

“And,” Rhys went on, “we’re going to enjoy  _ some  _ of this very expensive party before we sneak out. Sound good?”

“Um.” Tim looked down at his cutlery, warmth climbing up his neck again. “Uh, yeah. Yes. Mhmm.” 

Rhys smiled, getting up. “Good.” 

Rhys led Tim to the open bar at the side of the ballroom. The guests were still arriving so the line was fairly short and they got two simple drinks before trying to return to their seats. They were stopped multiple times by men and women who knew Rhys, who almost all started by saying how long it had been since they’d seen him. They all offered condolences regarding his parents, which Rhys smiled and thanked them for. Rhys introduced Tim to all of his wealthy acquaintances and switched between holding Tim’s hand and putting his hand on Tim’s shoulder. He called Tim his husband every single time. 

Tim tried to keep up with it all, smiling and nodding and offering his hand to shake when Rhys prompted him. It was exhausting, and smiling for so long made his face hurt. No wonder Rhys didn’t interact with these people very often. 

When they finally made it back to their table, twenty minutes or two hours later, the rest of the seats had been filled. The chatter in the ballroom had risen to a level of white noise that Tim was starting to have a difficult time blocking out. It was distracting, made it hard to focus on Rhys, on the things he was saying into Tim’s ear. 

“...suit is really not his color,” Rhys mumbled.

“What?” Tim asked, only able to catch the last bit of his sentence. Rhys didn’t get a chance to repeat himself. A man in a dark, tailored suit had made his way onto the stage at the front of the ballroom. He cleared his throat into the mic and smiled out at the room. 

“Ladies and gentleman, first of all, we want to thank you for attending Hyperion’s sixteenth annual charity ball. This year, all proceeds will be going to St. Jude’s Children’s Hospital.” 

He went on to thank some of the bigger donors for funding the event and the raffle prize, and announced the auction that would take place after dinner, as well as some of the items guests could bid on. 

The man thanked everyone again for coming, and before he’d even finished saying “enjoy your meals”, the staff were rolling out the first courses. Salad and soup. Tim looked between his dishes and the cutlery around them, hand hesitating over which ones to use.  

“Soup,” Rhys said, pointing at one of the spoons. “And that one is for the salad.” A fork. They all looked the damn same to Tim. He reached for the spoon Rhys had pointed out, wrapping his fingers around the handle. Tim dropped it with a yelp, jerking back in his seat and clutching his hand to his chest. Silver--it was  _ silver _ ware. Of course. Of course it fucking was. 

Tim could feel the eyes of their tablemates on him. He opened his hand, wincing at the long burn on his palm. 

“Shit,” Rhys said beside him. “I totally forgot. Excuse me.” Rhys waved down one of the staff members. “Do you have any cutlery that’s not silver? He’s allergic.” 

Tim glanced up in time to see the brief look of wide-eyed panic on the staff member’s face. 

“Um,” she said. “I will check for you, sir. I’m so sorry about that.” She cleared away Tim’s silverware and disappeared through the double doors. 

“You might have to eat with your hands,” Rhys whispered with an amused smile. He grasped Tim’s wrist and brought his hand closer to inspect. “I think Tassiter would have someone killed if they brought stainless steel into his house.” 

“Very funny,” Tim huffed. 

Rhys unrolled his cloth napkin and dipped it into his ice water, before pressing it to Tim’s burn. Tim sighed at the cool relief, tilting his head to watch Rhys dab the wet cloth against his palm. 

“I’m serious,” Rhys said, keeping his voice low and conspiratory. “Rich people can tell the difference, and they  _ will  _ complain.” 

Thankfully, the staff member did return with a new set of silverware. It wasn’t stainless steel, however, but hard plastic. She looked embarrassed when she handed it to him, and once she’d gone, Rhys told him the staff had probably been eating takeout and she’d likely taken the cutlery from that. Tim couldn’t care less where it came from, and he happily dug into his meal with a simpler array of cutlery. 

Tim was stuffed by the time dessert finally came around. Rhys was looking at him, his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes wide. His own slice of pie was long gone. Tim was all too glad to slide his over to Rhys, who grinned and dug in, finishing it off in a matter of minutes. 

Their plates were quickly cleared away once they’d finished, and a small orchestra ensemble began to set up on stage. The string instruments began, playing the beginning of a classic song Tim was sure he’d heard somewhere before. The lights had dimmed, and the fairy lights strung up around the ballroom began to glow, helping to illuminate the dancefloor. 

People began to make their way there, hand in hand with their partners and spouses. 

When Tim looked away, Rhys was watching him. 

“Do you know how to dance?”

Tim shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck ruefully. He gave Rhys a small smile. “Dancing wasn’t exactly part of my curriculum.” 

Rhys hummed and got to his feet. “Come on, then,” he said, holding his hand out to Tim. 

Tim looked at Rhys’ hand, then at Rhys. He swallowed, a wave of nervousness rising from the pit of his stomach. “Um,” Tim said intelligently. “You go ahead, I’ll just...stay here.” 

Rhys rose an eyebrow, his lips pursing together. “How’s it going to look if my  _ husband _ won’t even dance with me?” Rhys asked. “I’ll show you how.” He leaned in closer. “And I promise not to drop you on the dip.” 

“You are  _ not  _ dipping me.” 

Tim took Rhys’ hand and let him pull him to the dance floor. Between the other couples and the stage, Rhys turned and stepped into Tim’s space. “Put your hand here.” Rhys said, guiding Tim’s hand to his side. Rhys pressed his own hand to Tim’s shoulder. “Hold your other hand out.” Rhys slipped his left hand into Tim’s and squeezed. “Waltz is easy.” He said. “Step back, to the side, feet together--mhmm, like that.” 

Tim followed Rhys’ lead, stepping back and forth with clunky movements. He felt too big for his suit, feet too big for his shoes. He was sure Rhys could feel the sweat on his palm, could hear his heart rattling in his ribs. 

Rhys smiled at him, his eyes shining under the lights, his steps never faltering even when Tim’s did. They danced in circles, the steps becoming easier and easier the longer Tim did them. It became almost an afterthought, like walking in time with music. An afterthought to Rhys and how warm he was beneath Tim’s hands, how soft his hair looked, how pink his cheeks were. Tim never wanted to look away from him, never wanted to let him go. He pulled Rhys in closer before he could think about it, his hand sliding to rest against the small of Rhys’ back. They were so close now; Tim could smell Rhys’ cologne, something soft and vanilla-y and so familiar to him now. It smelled like home. 

He could kiss Rhys. Their noses were almost touching; if Tim leaned in just a little, just enough, he could kiss him. And why shouldn’t he? These people all thought they were married. Rhys and Timothy Oliver. Tim tightened his grip on Rhys’ hand, his heart pounding louder, in his ears now. He could, he could, he could. 

He didn’t. The song hadn’t ended, but their dance did when a hand landed on Rhys’ shoulder. A man Tim didn’t recognize was standing behind Rhys; he looked a little shifty, his eyes darting back and forth like he was afraid someone was going to call him out. Tim reluctantly let his hand slip from Rhys’ back, and Rhys turned away from him.

It was Hugo’s guy, of course, come to tell Rhys he could get him upstairs, to Tassiter’s office. Right. That was the whole reason they were here. 

“Oh, um,” the man started when they stepped off the dancefloor. He was looking at Tim. “It will look suspicious with so many people.” 

Tim could take a hint. Rhys frowned, but he didn’t argue. He glanced at Tim. “Wait at the table. This shouldn’t take long.” 

Feeling deflated, Tim did just that, taking a heavy seat back at their assigned table. He watched the couples on the dancefloor, all doing a similar variation to the waltz he and Rhys had been dancing. Tim could still feel the warmth of Rhys’ hand in his own. He sighed and glanced at the bar, wondering if he should get himself another drink. He wouldn’t even know what to order. 

Tim sighed again and let his gaze travel around the room, past all the shiny jewellry and pressed suits and updone hair. He spotted Tassiter, making his way out of the ballroom. He was heading towards a back door, which his guests had given a wide berth. 

He was alone. 

Tim watched him, brows furrowed. Where were all of his burly bodyguards? Tim didn’t see them anywhere in the ballroom. If he could talk to Tassiter alone...Tim stood from his seat. He straightened his jacket and slipped through the crowd of dancers to the back door. The door was nearly shut when he reached it, and he slipped his foot between the frame to keep it from closing entirely. With one last look behind him, Tim stepped through the doorway and into the cool night. 

The area outside the ballroom looked like it belonged in some old movie. There were tall, perfectly cut hedges lined by brickwork. It was hard to see beneath the snow, but Tim could just barely make out a little stone pathway under his feet that wound its way further into the garden. Tim couldn’t see Tassiter now, but he smelled--he smelled--

Blood. 

Sharp and sudden, so strong it made his eyes water. He breathed out, his breath curling like fog from his lips. The hair on the back of his neck stood up. Tim stepped forward, his hands curling into fists. Tassiter’s footprints turned a corner up ahead, disappearing around the bend of a large pottery piece. Tim swallowed thickly, his mouth dry. He tried to smell past the overwhelming scent of blood for any clue of what would be waiting for him around the corner. All he could make out was the vague smell of Tassiter’s cologne and...something else. Something faint. Something familiar that he couldn’t quite place. 

Tim walked along the pathway, snow gently crunching beneath the nice dress shoes Rhys had bought for him. He stepped around the empty pottery and turned the corner. 

Tassiter’s body was on the ground, his eyes open and staring up at Tim, unseeing. His throat had been torn out, and blood was still spilling from the wreckage, dripping down the side of his neck and staining the snow red. Anger bubbled in Tim’s chest--his chance to talk to Tassiter was gone, stolen from him. He shook with it, unable to tear his eyes away from Tassiter’s body. 

Someone whistled, short and sharp. 

Tim looked up, and it was like staring into a mirror. The man who stood across from him was wearing Tim’s face. The only difference was a deep scar that cut its way up his cheek and over his brow and back down the other side. He was grinning, all teeth. 

“Hey Timmy, was wondering when you’d pop your head out here.” 

Jack. It was Jack. It had to be him. Tim hadn’t seen him in his human form when he’d attacked the lab, but he’d seen that scar. It had marred the wolf’s face too, a stark darkness against its bright eyes. 

Tim lunged at Jack, nails sharpening into claws. He met nothing but air. Jack sidestepped him and grabbed the collar of Tim’s jacket, tossing him to the hard ground. Tim grunted when he hit the stone and rolled onto his side, looking up at Jack with narrowed eyes. 

“Cut the theatrics, kid,” Jack said. “I’m not here to kill ya.” 

Tim growled and got back to his feet, watching Jack warily. “Why--” he started, his tongue tripping over the words in his mouth, “Why do you look like me?” 

Jack laughed, long and loud. “Look like  _ you? _ ” He was still chuckling. “Kiddo, you look like  _ me _ .” 

Tim just glowered. 

“Ol Tassy here really didn’t tell you anything, did he?” Jack asked. He kicked Tassiter’s body. Jack looked so relaxed to be here, so happy. His hands were in his pockets, like Tim was no threat to him at all. 

Jack turned his eyes on Tim again. “Well, I’m gonna let’cha in on a not-too-well kept secret, Timmy. You’re me.” 

Tim stared.

“Well, not  _ actually _ me, but uh, a clone. A doppelganger. I’m sure your little boyfriend is grabbing the files right now--they’ve got all the science-y bullshit spelled out.” Jack waved his hand. 

“I...what?” Tim felt frozen in place, like he was stuck in the middle of a hurricane, or a landslide. Like the ground was coming up from underneath him. 

“Yeeep. See, Tassiter and me don’t get along so great. Well,  _ didn’t  _ get along so great. Pretty sure he thought if he made a second me, you’d like, I dunno, beat me, kill me, whatever his endgame was. That-- _ That  _ doesn’t matter now. Not important. I mean, god, okay, yeah I was friggin’  _ pissed  _ when I found out about you. Wanted nothing more than to rip your spine out and beat you to death with it. I mean  _ jesus _ ,” he gestured to Tim. “That’s  _ my  _ goddamn face,  _ my  _ body, you little thief.” 

Jack shook his head, then went on. “So yeah, I did wanna kill ya. But then you escaped from me and shacked up with that witch of yours--” 

Tim tightened his fists.

“--and I gotta tell ya. That impressed me. Witches aren’t really  _ hospitable.  _ Far as I figure, you get one to take you in, put up friggin’ protection wards--well, maybe you’ve got some potential.” 

The sound of breaking glass met Tim’s ears, and he turned to look behind him. Through the windows, he could see creatures like the one that had attacked him and Rhys in the ballroom. Abominations. Screams rose up and the crowd dispersed, people running into each other, over each other, as the abominations tore through them.

“Nah uh uh, Timmy, look at me.” 

Tim looked back at Jack. 

“I’m gonna make you a deal.” Jack said. He stepped closer. “I want you to come with me, do what I say. It’ll be good for you, better than you ever had it in that damn lab. Bet those eggheads never let you have any fun, did they?” 

Tim lifted his chin, making himself as big as possible. “What if I say--” 

“Ahh, you don’t have to give me your answer now,” Jack said. He was still grinning. He was still coming closer. “I’ll give ya some time to think it over. But I do have some incentives for you.” Jack was close enough to put his hand on Tim’s shoulder. He did, and Tim flinched. 

“First,” Jack said, holding up the pointer finger on his free hand. “I gotta tell ya,  I  _ really  _ hate witches. If you don’t join me, well, Rhysie might just meet with a little accident.” 

Tim snarled and tried to jerk away from Jack’s hold. Jack only tightened his grip, his smile growing sharper. “I’m not done yet. I said you don’t have to decide now. You’ll know where to find me, after.” 

“After  _ what _ ?” Tim bit out. 

“After I give you a little taste of what you’ve been missing out on. I’m gonna let you off your leash, pumpkin.” Jack released Tim’s shoulder and grabbed the side of his head, twisting his fingers into Tim’s hair and yanking hard. 

Jack’s eyes turned from green and blue to deep red, his pupils narrowing into slits. Tim tried to pull away. 

He couldn’t close his eyes.

He couldn’t move.

 

* * *

 

Hugo’s guy snuck Rhys up the grand staircase. There was a suspicious lack of guards on their way up and through the halls, but Rhys was too eager to get his hands on the information to pay it much mind. He easily unlocked Tassiter’s office with a bit of magic after making sure Hugo’s guy--whose name Rhys didn’t care to learn--kept watch for any of Tassiter’s security team. 

Once inside, Rhys got to work, breaking through the computer’s system to find what he was after. It took some digging, but after several minutes of searching, Rhys located a file buried in Tassiter’s work folders. 

Lab_TL. 

He opened it, and a list of what must have been hundreds of documents loaded up on the screen. The first was titled Timothy Lawrence. That was good enough for Rhys. He plugged in his USB drive and began copying the entire thing. The progress bar inched its way across the screen; ten percent completed. 

Rhys eyed the open doorway, where Hugo’s guy was poking his head out, looking into the hallway. Stupid, really. It would be less suspicious to close the door and stand outside. Rhys startled when what sounded like muffled screaming rose from the floor beneath him. Hugo’s guy turned to look at him, eyes wide. 

“What?” Rhys asked, getting to his feet. “What’s going on down there?” 

Hugo’s guy didn’t reply, but he slipped his hand into his jacket. Rhys saw the metal of a gun.

It couldn’t have been cheering--the screams were still going. Things were clattering, breaking. It was a real commotion. Rhys wondered with a tight chest if it was an assassination attempt, or maybe a robbery. 

Tim. He’d left him downstairs. Alone. 

Rhys swallowed. No, he didn’t need to worry about Tim. Out of all the people downstairs, Tim would be able to handle himself the best. He’d be fine. Rhys looked back at the progress bar, anxiety bubbling in the pit of his stomach. Almost eighty percent now. 

“H-Hey!” Hugo’s guy shouted. Rhys whipped his head around just in time to watch  _ something _ run right into him, knocking him flat on his back. The gun went flying across the floor. The man shouted as something big and black stood over him, its teeth dripping red. An abomination.  Rhys felt his heart stop. 

Jack was here. 

He was still after Tim. Rhys was so  _ stupid _ . Of course Jack would wait until they weren’t at the house to attack--no wards to worry about. He must have been watching them, waiting for an opportunity to get at Tim.

Rhys heard something  _ crunch _ , and the man on the floor went silent. The abomination raised its head and turned its slitted eyes on Rhys. It snarled, baring its bloody teeth, and then it lunged straight at him. Rhys barely managed to avoid getting tossed onto his back--he yelped when the abomination’s claws caught his arm, tearing right through the fabric of his suit jacket. 

He felt electricity begin to spark between his fingertips, his magic reacting to the threat faster than his brain. But--no, he willed it away. If there were more abominations downstairs, if Jack was here, he needed to make sure he didn’t waste it. 

The gun. He had to get it. Adrenaline rushed through his veins and all he could hear was the sound of his heartbeat in his ears. The abomination snapped at him, and Rhys dodged the bite aimed for his leg. He nearly tripped over himself as he scrambled towards the door. He frantically scanned the floor for where the gun had gone--the man had fallen there, the gun had skittered that way--

There it was, gleaming under the office lights like a lucky penny on the sidewalk. Rhys ran for it, hand outstretched to grab it. The tip of his shoe caught on the edge of the carpet and he tripped, landing hard on his hands and knees. The gun was  _ right there _ , though, and Rhys scrambled for it, just barely able to wrap his fingers around the grip before he felt hot breath against the back of his neck. Something warm dripped onto his skin, and he shuddered when he felt the abomination looming over him. He tightened his grip on the gun and took a breath. Turn and shoot, he told himself. Shoot it, hit it, do  _ something _ . 

The abomination growled behind him, right in his ear. Rhys closed his eyes and forced himself to turn, lifting the gun--

A much larger figure barrelled into the abomination, sending it halfway across the room. Rhys opened his eyes wide. The abomination yelped as a huge pair of teeth closed around its neck. Rhys winced as he watched the creature struggle in the jaws of the werewolf, black blood gushing from its wounds. It wheezed out its last breath and went still, its eyes going blank. The werewolf practically spat it out of his mouth once the abomination was dead. It lowered its head and sniffed at it, its teeth bared. 

“Tim!” Rhys said, relief flooding through him as he got to his feet. He’d only seen Tim in his wolf form that first day he’d found him; Rhys had forgotten how big he was. The abomination looked like a toothpick compared to Tim. “Oh, thank god. What’s it look like down there? Are there more abominations?” 

The wolf’s ears swiveled, and then Tim was turning his eyes on Rhys. They were wide and bright, the iris completely eclipsed by an almost glowing red. Tim’s eyes hadn’t been red before.  

“Tim?” Rhys asked, taking a hesitant step backwards. 

Tim took a step forward, then another, his large paws making the floor creak beneath him. The gun was heavy in Rhys’ hand, the metal warmed by the touch of his skin. 

“Tim?” He tried again. 

Tim didn’t blink, didn’t react whatsoever. It was like he couldn’t hear Rhys, or he didn’t recognize him. The wolf bared its teeth, its lip curling as it snarled at Rhys. 

“Tim, stop!” Rhys shouted when Tim came even closer. He didn’t want to hurt Tim. Rhys raised the gun. “What’s wrong with you?” Rhys asked. “Don’t--don’t come any closer--” 

Rhys shouted when the wolf leapt towards him, crying out in pain when he landed on his back, the wolf heavy above him. Black claws scratched at Rhys’ chest; he tightened his hold on the gun and swung his arm, hitting Tim across the head with it. The wolf yelped, but didn’t stumble back like Rhys had been hoping. The sound turned into a growl and the wolf snapped its teeth, biting down hard on Rhys’ hand and arm. The gun clattered to the ground, the sound almost lost beneath Rhys’ scream of pain. He tried to yank his arm back from Tim’s jaw, but the wolf wasn’t budging, sinking its teeth deeper like it was waiting for something to break.

Magic came alive beneath Rhys’ skin, burning hot and making his hair stand on end. Rhys felt it thrumming through his fingers and toes, itching to be set free. Screwing his eyes shut, Rhys let it.  _ Don’t kill him _ , he thought.  _ Don’t hurt him _ . It ran through his head, like a broken record.  _ Don’t hurt him don’t hurt him don’t hurt him.  _

Rhys pressed his metal hand to the wolf’s chest. His magic pulsed, like a ripple in a pond, and flew through his hand and into Tim. He felt it leave him, draining out of him until there was nothing left. Tim went still above him, his jaw unclenching. Rhys gasped when his arm was freed from those teeth, his eyes stinging and wet. The wolf took a wobbly step backwards, then another--and then Tim stumbled and fell onto his side. He let out a heavy breath, and the red in his eyes drained away with it, leaving them the familiar blue and green before they slid shut. Tim’s body shifted, shrinking in on itself until he turned human again, the claws and teeth disappearing. 

Rhys sat up with a wince. He didn’t look at the bloody mess that was his arm, his stomach quivering at just the thought alone. He was alive. He would heal from this, even if it took him awhile. Tim was breathing steadily, his chest rising and falling easily. Sleeping. Rhys forced himself shakily to his feet and tucked his arm close to his chest. He could feel exhaustion set deep in his bones. Using magic like that always took a lot out of him, left him feeling weak and frail. 

He made his way back to the computer. The copy was complete. He grabbed his USB and slipped it into his pants pocket, then he pulled out his phone and called Hugo. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heya! hope you all enjoy this one. we get into nsfw territory here feat. KNOTTING, so...skip the ending bit if you're not into that. Also, there's only one more chapter after this! Thanks for stickin around for this silly fic :^)

Tim woke with a start, his heart pounding and a cold sweat across his forehead. He could still feel the dark clutches of his dream--nightmare?--as he looked around wildly. There was no snow here, no blood. He was back in Rhys’ living room, the familiar blue couch beneath him. Tim swallowed, remembering the feel of blood, slick between his teeth. He remembered Rhys beneath him, his eyes wide-- _Rhys_. Where was he?

“Oh, you’re awake.”

Tim turned to see Rhys stepping out of the kitchen. His hair was ungelled, like he’d only just woken up. He held a steaming mug of coffee in his cybernetic arm. The other was covered in thick, white bandages that disappeared beneath the sleeve of his shirt.

“Rhys.” Tim said through a sore throat. He stared at Rhys’ bandages, hiding what Tim had done to him.

Rhys made his way toward the couch, stopping to give Tim an expectant look. Tim quickly pulled his legs out of the way and Rhys took a seat beside him. He raised his coffee to his lips and took a sip.

How? How could Rhys be so calm right now? And how could he sit next to Tim after what had happened? Why was Tim even still in his home?

“Rhys,” Tim started again, the words twisting on his tongue. “I’m--I’m so sorry, I don’t know what happened. I couldn’t--”

“I know,” Rhys said. “It was Jack, wasn’t it?. He did something to you.” He looked so completely unrattled by it all, like Tim hadn’t just _attacked_ him last night. Jack or no, Tim couldn’t control himself. He hurt the only person in the world he never wanted to.

“Your arm,” Tim said weakly. “I did that.”

Rhys turned to him. “Tim,” He said, and he placed his cybernetic hand over Tim’s arm. “It’s fine. I’m fine. The bandages make it look worse than it is.”

Tim shook his head and looked away. “How can you not be upset about this? I could have killed you.”

“But you didn’t,” Rhys said firmly. Tim felt him lean back, the couch cushion dipping under his weight. “I didn’t say I wasn’t upset, though.”

Tim glanced at him.

“You did ruin two very nice suits.”

Tim huffed. “That’s not funny.”

Rhys frowned. “It wasn’t a joke. Do you know how expensive those were? They’re in shreds.”

“ _Rhys_.”

“ _Tim_.”

Tim scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed. “What...what happened after I…Is Jack still…?”

Rhys tilted his head to the side. “After I knocked you out, I called Hugo. He was outside in the car, remember? The abominations are all dead. Tassiter’s dead. We never saw Jack, though. Did he say anything to you?”

Tim nodded. His own face, scarred and smirking back at him--he didn’t think he’d ever be able to forget it. “He looked like me. Or I looked like him.” Tim looked down at where Rhys’ fingers were still wrapped around his arm. “He said I was a copy of him. A clone.”

Rhys hummed and let go of Tim. “That’s what it said in the file, too.”

“You got it?”

Rhys leaned forward and grabbed his laptop off of the coffee table. He tapped a few keys and brought up a document. It had a picture of Tim on it. Rhys turned the screen towards Tim, who leaned closer to read. It was a general overview of Tim’s health, his looks, his level of athleticism. The next page went into detail about the DNA that had been extracted from Jack and the trials the scientists went through. To make Tim. The words started to blur together before Tim’s eyes, and he leaned back, shaken.

Tim was nothing more than a laboratory experiment. All of his daydreams and fantasies of his family coming to find him, to take him away from that lab. They never could have come true.

“Tim?” He heard Rhys say. Tim’s head felt so heavy all of a sudden, and black spots danced in his vision, fuzzy around the edges. He wasn’t his own person. Everything about Tim was manufactured, designed. Just a copy.

Tim couldn’t breathe. He put his head down between his knees and closed his eyes. He wasn’t sure how long he stayed like that, curled over on himself, but when his breathing finally came back under his control, he felt Rhys rubbing circles on his back. Tim swallowed and blinked away the wetness in his eyes.

“I should go.” Tim forced the words from his throat. If Jack could make him go...feral once, who’s to say he wouldn’t do it again? He was putting Rhys in danger just by being near him. What if Jack didn’t even need to do anything next time? If Tim was a clone of his, he could just be a ticking time bomb...he could turn into something just as monstrous as Jack. “Jack...he offered me a deal.”

The hand on Tim’s back stopped. “And you’re thinking of taking it?” Rhys asked. His voice sounded tight.

“I...don’t want to,” Tim said, risking a glance at Rhys. “He said he’d kill you if I didn’t join up with him. I don’t want you to get hurt, Rhys. Not because of me.” Not again.

“No” Rhys said. “You’re not leaving. You’re not going anywhere with that psychopath.” Rhys grabbed Tim’s face, making Tim look straight at him. “I’m not scared of Jack, and I’m not scared of you, Tim Lawrence.”

Tim’s eyebrows scrunched together, and he opened his mouth to argue.

“I’m not done.” Rhys cut him off. “You might look like him, talk like him, sound like him, but you’re not _him_. You watch twenty-four hour kitten live streams online. You carry all the bags when we go shopping. You listen to the songs I recommend all the way through even when I can tell you don’t really like it. You have a freckle on your earlobe.” Rhys touched the spot on Tim’s ear. “And when you blush, your neck turns all red first before your cheeks.”

Tim swallowed, feeling the warmth on his neck. Rhys had moved closer, his face only inches from Tim’s. He pressed their foreheads together.

“You are nothing like Jack.” Rhys said. “And he’s not going to win. Not this time.”

 

* * *

 

Despite everything, Rhys managed to keep Tim’s secret from Hugo. Hugo hadn’t even really seemed interested in why Jack was at the gala, only that he was. Tassiter’s estate had been turned over to the government after the police had cleaned up. He’d had no heirs, no will. He’d probably expected to be alive another thirty years at least. With the estate uninhabited, Hugo was over there more days that not, looking for evidence of Jack, and of where he could have gone. He was so caught up in it he didn’t even bother to cajole Rhys into going with him.

That was fine by Rhys, who had his own hands full.

Timothy wasn’t the same after that night. The things they’d found out had hit him hard, and he’d been down ever since. On bad days, Rhys had to bribe him to get up off the couch with promises of a good meal. On worse days, he let Tim stay curled up with his tablet.

As for Jack--Rhys didn’t know where he’d gone off to. Their best bet was to wait for him to come to them. Rhys was sure he would, if he really had offered Tim a deal. Tim’s silence would hopefully anger him enough to draw him out. Rhys re-did the wards around the house once again, making sure they were secure. The full moon was coming soon, and if Jack were to make a move, it would be when he was at his most powerful. The full moon would affect Tim too, and between him and Rhys, they would have the advantage.

He had Tim help him set up traps as well; they didn’t have anything too sophisticated, but it was easy to get ahold of spike traps and replace some of the pieces with silver. If Jack did manage to break through the wards, the traps would slow him down.

With the house fortified, there was nothing left to do but wait.

Rhys peered at Tim from around the kitchen doorway. He was dusting the living room, his shoulders slumped, a heavy sigh leaving him every few minutes. It was depressing to watch, even surrounded by red and green ribbons and the tall, ornately decorated tree in the corner of the room. Rhys had hoped the Christmas party would cheer Tim up. He’d almost cancelled it this year, what with everything that was happening, but in the end he’d decided to go through with it. Tim seemed like he needed some fun, something to take his mind off of Jack, even if just for a night.

“Hey,” Rhys said. He grabbed one of his shopping bags and stepped into the living room. When Tim looked up, Rhys smiled at him. “I bought you something to wear tonight.” He pulled a sweater from the bag and when Tim stepped closer, handed it to him.

Tim unfolded it and held it up to his chest and looked down at the design. It was Christmas green with white snowflakes of varying sizes, and a stuffed stocking in the middle. In cursive text, it read: _I’ve Been Nice_. As far holiday sweaters went, it was pretty ugly, but certainly not the most hideous thing Rhys had seen at the store.

Rhys bit his lip and watched for Tim’s reaction. Tim looked up at Rhys, a hint of a smile on his face. “This isn’t even true.”

“I got a matching one,” Rhys said. He pulled the companion sweater from his bag. It was red, with the same graphic on it - only Rhys’ said he’d been naughty. _That_ got a real smile from Tim, who shook his head.

“Not much in the way of couples sweaters, were there?” Tim asked.

“It was either this or one of those ones that are attached at the arm.” And while Rhys had definitely put some serious consideration into it (Tim’s arm against his, their hips flush together)--he wasn’t sure if he could spend the whole evening with Tim warm against his side and keep up the _fake_ couple act. He was only a man for god’s sake. A man with a very unfortunate crush.

“Good call,” Tim said. He turned the sweater over in his hands and pulled it over his head. It was a nice fit on him, snug in all the right places. It made Tim look good, despite being the ugliest thing Rhys had ever put him in. “Comfy.”

Rhys smiled again. “Green is really not your color. Anyway, I’m going to shower. If anyone shows up, let them in. You remember how to turn on the speakers?”

“Yep.”

“Alright,” Rhys said, turning towards the stairs. “Don’t start drinking without me.”

 

* * *

 

It was halfway through the night and Rhys was on his third cocktail when he’d realized through all the greetings and small talk with his guests that he’d lost track of Tim. With his head a little dizzy, Rhys made his way through the crowded living room, the soft sound of acapella Christmas music playing just under the lull of voices. He frowned when he didn’t see Tim in the room anywhere, not even on the couch with Gortys, who had a little reindeer outfit on for the occasion.

Rhys bypassed Vaughn and Yvette, who were both talking loudly to be heard, Rhys’ fancy glasses in their hands. Tim had asked him about that--using actual glasses instead of those disposable red ones he’d seen in the movies Rhys had made him watch. Rhys told him how wasteful those plastic cups were, not to mention tacky. Rhys would rather spend an hour washing the dishes than hand out those hideous cups to his guests.

He stepped into the much quieter kitchen, where only a few people were milling about, getting refills or grabbing snacks. Rhys smiled when he caught sight of Tim, his hands on the countertop as he looked down at the assortment of rums and whiskeys and other alcohols Rhys had pulled from the cabinet. There was a frown on his face, a wrinkle between his brow.

“So this is where you’re hiding.” Rhys slid up beside Tim and rested his elbows on the counter. He sipped his Jingle Juice (he didn’t name it, he only found the recipe on the internet) and tilted his head, flashing Tim a smile.

“I’m not hiding,” Tim said a little defensively, his frown deepening. “I’m just…” he was still looking down at the bottles of liquor. “I wanted a drink.”

“You want me to make you something?” Rhys asked, already setting his drink down on the counter and standing up a little straighter. Tim _did_ look pretty tense, his shoulders tight, his back straight. That was the _opposite_ of where Rhys wanted Tim to be tonight. He wanted Tim to calm down a little, to relax, get his mind off of Jack. “I’m gonna make you something,” Rhys said before Tim could reply. “What are you in the mood for? Sweet, savory? Hot, cold?”

Tim slid his hands from the counter and stuck them in his pockets, taking a step back. “Something that tastes good.”

Rhys laughed a little too hard at that and reached for some ingredients. His mixing skills weren’t something to brag about and they were even less impressive when he was drunk--Rhys spilled eggnog on the counter as he filled up Tim’s glass, some of it splashing back onto his very ugly sweater. “Oops.” He bit his lip, feeling his cheeks grow even warmer.

Beside him, Tim snorted and gently took the carton from him. “Maybe try keeping the drink _in_ the glass?” He said, but didn’t give Rhys a chance to try again, pouring the rest of the eggnog himself.

“Wait, wait, you made it too full.” Rhys tapped the glass, where the eggnog had nearly reached the top. “Where’s the rum supposed to go?”

Tim picked up the glass and took a big gulp, downing a fourth of the drink in one swallow. He set it back down with a satisfied sigh and smacked his lips. “That’s pretty good.” Rhys had moved past being surprised every time he found out Tim had never had something before--it just happened too often to be practical. But still...hearing that Tim had never had eggnog before made him sad.

“It is good,” Rhys said, stealing the glass from Tim and reaching for the rum before he could be stopped. “But it’s really rich, too. You only drink it around Christmas time because winter is the one season where it’s socially acceptable to be fat.” He poured less than a shot of rum into the nog, remembering the last time he’d gotten a drink for Tim. Rhys swirled the glass in his hand as gently as he could to mix it up a little, but some of it spilled over onto his fingers anyway.

“That doesn’t sound right,” he heard Tim mutter. Rhys pressed the drink into Tim’s waiting hand and before he even stopped to think about it, brought his own fingers to his mouth to lick the mess off them. He caught Tim’s eyes and slid his forefinger out of his mouth with a pop; Rhys smiled.

Tim cleared his throat and looked down at his drink as if he’d forgotten he was holding it. Rhys could feel himself smiling again--except he’d already been smiling, so that meant he was just smiling bigger and dumber. That pink little flush was making its way up Tim’s neck, stark against his tan skin. Tim took a sip of his eggnog.

“Good?” Rhys asked him.

“Good,” Tim said, taking another sip. He wasn’t quite meeting Rhys’ eyes.

“Good,” Rhys said again, wrapping his hand around Tim’s arm. “Now let’s go join the _actual_ party.” He had no intention of letting Tim go again tonight. Tim started to relax under his touch, his shoulders slouching. Rhys even saw him start to smile--big and genuine and maybe a little tipsy--something he hadn’t really gotten to see since before the charity gala. It made Rhys’ chest tighten uncomfortably, something fluttering in his stomach. Rhys looked away from Tim as he pulled him back through the archway between the kitchen and the living room.

A sudden, collective ‘ooooh’ rose from the crowd of guests in the living room. They were all turned towards Rhys and Tim, as if they’d been waiting for them to come through the doorway. Rhys looked at his guests, then at Tim, his brows knitting together.

“Mistletoe!” Someone called out--it was Vaughn, his cheeks red and his tie wrapped around his head.

Ah. Rhys went stiff, his fingers digging into Tim’s skin just a fraction. He glanced upward, and sure enough, a little sprig of mistletoe was hanging there. Rhys definitely hadn’t put it there himself, which meant someone brought it to the party and hung it up to catch unsuspecting couples beneath it. Rhys looked back at Vaughn, narrowing his eyes. He couldn’t be sure it was him of course, but the grin Vaughn was shooting him was anything but innocent.

Rhys looked back at Tim, who was looking upward at the small plant. Everyone was still staring at them, waiting expectantly for a simple kiss between Rhys and his boyfriend. Tim tilted his chin down and looked at Rhys again. Rhys swallowed. Except Tim _wasn’t_ his boyfriend. Rhys’ gaze dropped from Tim’s mismatched eyes to his lips, his brain shorting out at having him so close.

He forced himself to stop thinking and stepping further into Tim’s space, enjoying the feel of Tim’s chest against his, the smell of his own soap on Tim’s skin. Rhys cupped Tim’s neck and leaned in to kiss him. For a moment, Tim didn’t move, didn’t _breathe_ , like he wasn’t sure what to do--but then he tentatively kissed Rhys back, soft and sweet and inexperienced, his lips tasting of eggnog. His hands found their way to Rhys’ waist, fingers curling around his sides. Rhys melted into their kiss, his eyes sliding shut as his heart threatened to burst out of his chest.

When Tim tried to pull away, Rhys chased him, deepening the kiss instead of letting it break; he slipped Tim some tongue-- _tasteful_ tongue because they _were_ being watched by a group of people.

When they finally, finally, pulled apart, and only because Rhys needed to breathe, there was a murmur of noise from his guests. Some aww’ing and some disgusted noises, mostly from Yvette, but thankfully almost everyone turned back to their own conversations now that the show was over.

Rhys swallowed and took a step backwards, letting his hand fall back to his side and meeting Tim’s eyes. The flush from Tim’s neck had risen to his cheeks, and Rhys was sure his own were just as pink.

“Um,” Rhys said, feeling lightheaded and a little giddy. He couldn’t stop smiling. His face hurt.

Tim was smiling too. He rubbed at his jaw and looked away, and opened his mouth like he wanted to say something. Someone bumped into them, jostling Rhys out of his daze--it was one of his coworkers, well-past drunk. He scooted between them on his way to...wherever. Rhys didn’t watch him go, but he did clear his throat and try to get a handle on himself.

“We should…” he nodded his head toward the rest of the party. “Probably.”

“Yeah.” Tim nodded in eager agreement.

They stood there for another moment. Rhys bit his lip and tried hard not to think about how Tim’s lips felt, about how much he wanted to kiss him again. He shook his head. It was just one kiss. A kiss between two people pretending to be in love. He took the first step away from Tim, then another, until they were back in the crowd of guests, a safe distance from the mistletoe in the doorway.

Rhys had a difficult time staying focused for the rest of the evening. His friends pulled him in into their small circle to talk about work and...other things that Rhys had tuned out of because he couldn’t stop thinking about that kiss. About Tim’s hands on him. His big hands.

He floated through the rest of the party, dizzy on alcohol and the flush he couldn’t quite get rid of. Rhys said a quiet goodbye to the last of his guests to leave--Yvette and Vaughn, both with their Christmas gifts in hand--and shut the door against the cold. He turned and pressed his back to the door. The living room was a mess; empty chip bowls and dirty glasses. Tim was leaning back on the couch with Gortys in his lap, scratching behind her ears.

The room felt so much smaller with only the two of them in it. Rhys pushed away from the door and turned the music off, unplugging his phone from its charger. He started to collect the dirty dishes and carry them to the kitchen sink--he paused at the archway, glancing upward. The mistletoe was still there. Rhys reached up and tugged it down along with the piece of tape that’d been holding it up. He shook his head and set it on the counter as he got to work washing the dishes.

Tim stepped up beside him not long after, setting another handful of dishes onto the counter. He rolled up his sweater sleeves and grabbed the dishes Rhys had already cleaned and began drying them off. They were shoulder to shoulder, stupid matching sweaters rubbing against each other with every movement they made.

“Do you want me to wipe down the tables?” Tim asked, his finger already looped around the cabinet handle where Rhys kept his cleaning supplies.

Rhys shook his head. “It’s late, leave it for tomorrow.”

Tim let go of the handle, but didn’t make a move to leave the kitchen. Neither of them did.

Rhys bit his bottom lip, fiddling with the towel in his hands. He could feel Tim’s gaze on him.

“Tim--”

“Rhys--”

They both stopped, turned towards each other. Tim laughed under his breath. “Rhys,” he said again, and their eyes met. “About earlier…” Tim pursed his lips, like he wasn’t really sure where he’d been going with that. Rhys hoped he wasn’t going to say sorry, that he wasn’t going to say it didn’t matter.

“Hm?” Rhys hummed and tilted his head, letting his eyes close halfway. He knew all the angles he looked good in, knew how to show himself off, and he wasn’t above using that knowledge to get what he wanted.

“I,” Tim started. “Um.” Tim’s gaze dropped to Rhys’ lips, then flickered back up again. “The mistletoe. I didn’t, uh.” The flush was back, turning Tim’s neck pink, crawling up to his cheeks. “Uh.”

Rhys hadn’t even realized how close he’d leaned in until Tim shut his mouth. There was hardly any space between them at all--and Rhys didn’t waste time closing the gap. He set the towel down and grasped at Tim’s sweater as he kissed him. Tim made a surprised sound in the back of his throat but didn’t pull away, instead putting his hands on Rhys’ hips and pulling him closer. Without an audience this time, Rhys licked his way into Tim’s mouth. The kiss set his nerves alight just like the first had, his skin tingling with it.

Tim crowded Rhys back against the counter, breaking the kiss only to dip his head down and suck at the skin on Rhys’ neck. Rhys’ breath hitched, and he tilted his head to give Tim better access, the warmth of arousal stirring in his gut.

“Tim,” Rhys breathed, his fingers tightening in Tim’s sweater. “Mmn, Tim, ah, bedroom.” He pulled away from Tim with some reluctance, but the last thing he wanted was for Hugo to walk in on them.

Tim pressed one last kiss against Rhys’ neck before straightening up and pulling back. His breath was coming a little heavier, his pupils dilated. Tim swallowed and nodded. “Bedroom.”

Rhys couldn’t keep his hands to himself as they made their way upstairs. He slipped his fingers beneath the hem of Tim’s sweater, pressing feather-light touches against his stomach. Rhys missed one of the steps and nearly lost his balance, his heart jolting in his chest. Tim caught him easily, his arms around Rhys’ waist. They both laughed and managed to get up the stairs without further incident. Once they slipped into Rhys’ bedroom, Rhys shut the door behind them and locked it with a ‘click.’

Safe from any prying eyes, Rhys pulled Tim’s sweater up and over his head and tossed it aside. Living in such close quarters, Rhys had seen Tim shirtless plenty of times--when he got ready for bed, when he got up the in the morning, after a hot shower…

Rhys dragged his fingers over the deep lines of Tim’s abs. This was the difference. He could touch Tim now. Tim let out a quiet laugh, like the touches tickled, and he cupped Rhys’ face and leaned in for another kiss. Rhys sighed into it, his breath growing short. He didn’t think he’d ever get tired of kissing Tim.

But Rhys had other plans.

He pushed Tim backwards, toward the foot of his king-sized bed, never breaking their kiss until Tim’s knees met the edge and he had to sit. Tim looked up at him with those mismatched eyes and wet lips, his skin flushed and bright.

“Scoot back,” Rhys said as he crawled onto the bed after him, already missing Tim’s skin beneath his hands. Tim did as he was told and laid back against the headboard, his face open and eager. Rhys could see the hard outline of Tim’s cock straining against his pants. He straddled Tim’s thighs and palmed his crotch, another wave of warm arousal flooding through him at the noise Tim made. With a coy smile, Rhys pulled his hand away and leaned back to remove his own sweater and undershirt.

“I always liked these,” Tim said, only a hint of hesitance in his voice as he reached out for Rhys’ newly-bared skin. His fingers traced over the blue of Rhys’ tattoos, following the pattern down his chest. Goosebumps raised on Rhys’ skin at the touch, and he shivered, catching Tim’s hand in his own. He brought it to his lips and pressed a kiss on the inside of his palm. It was kind of scary how much he wanted to touch Tim--Rhys couldn’t keep his hands to himself. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this way about someone, the last time he’d cared this much about the person in his bed.

Rhys glanced at Tim from beneath his eyelashes, savoring the way Tim swallowed and parted his lips. Like he couldn’t get enough of Rhys either.

“Rhys,” Tim said, suddenly sounding serious. He gripped Rhys’ hips in his hands. “I’ve...never done this before.”

“Okay,” Rhys said, though he’d already known. “We’ll take it slow.” He moved forward and wrapped his arms around Tim’s neck. Rhys kissed the curve of Tim’s jaw, the spot behind his ear, down his throat. “We’ve got all night.”

Tim moaned, his hips rolling up to meet Rhys’. “Not--not too slow, I hope.” He said. Rhys could feel the vibration of his voice in his chest. “I just want this to be good. For you.”

Rhys dragged his head up so he could look Tim in the eye. He flicked his ear. “I’ve got you in my bed.” Rhys ground his hips down; he was already half-hard, just from having Tim under him. “Hah. It’s already good.”

Tim smiled, tapping his fingers against Rhys’ hips. “I’ve been in your bed every night for the past month.”

Rhys hummed and ran a hand through Tim’s messy hair. “Maybe,” He agreed. “But now I can do this.” Rhys kissed Tim again, briefly. “And this.” He reached for Tim’s pants, easily popping the button open and pulling down the zipper. Tim grunted, lifting his hips to assist when Rhys started to drag his pants and boxers down his thighs. Tim’s cock was hard and leaking and flushed pink--Tim made a cute noise when Rhys wrapped his hand around him.

He was big; Rhys could only just barely close his fingers around him. Rhys gave him a gentle squeeze, which made Tim’s hips twitch, his brows drawing together. Rhys wanted to take his time with Tim; he’d meant it when he’d said they’d go slow. With some reluctance, he let go of Tim’s cock and leaned over him to kiss him again. Tim kissed back immediately, his enthusiasm making up for his lack of experience.

Rhys sighed into the kiss, his heart squeezing at the thought of having Tim like this every day, of getting to wake up and kiss him as much as he wanted. Tim’s hands found their way to Rhys’ hips, pulling him closer, their chests pressed tight and warm together. Rhys pulled away from the kiss first to trail his lips along Tim’s jaw, to catch his earlobe between his teeth. Tim’s grip on Rhys’ hips tightened, and Rhys felt Tim’s cock brush against his stomach, straining.

Tim wasn’t going to last long. Rhys pulled away from him. “Hold on.” Rhys murmured, leaning back. The sound of upset Tim made when Rhys took his hands and mouth off him when straight to Rhys’ dick. Rhys leaned to the side and rifled around in the bedside drawer, settling back atop Tim once he found what he was looking for. He handed the lube off to Tim, then reached for the button on his own pants. Rhys slid them off and tossed them aside with the rest of their clothing, his briefs following shortly after.

He shivered against the chill in the air, goosebumps raising across his skin. Tim sat up, pulling Rhys into his lap; they both gasped as their cocks brushed together. “Mmh,” Rhys hummed and pressed a hand against Tim’s chest, trying to get a handle on himself. Tim went willingly, even with his eyebrows drawn tight together. “Don’t look so upset,” Rhys said, a little out of breath. “I’m not done with you yet.”

Rhys spread the lube across his fingers, rubbing them together until it warmed, and reached behind himself. He rested his free hand on Tim’s thigh to keep himself steady, careful not to brush Tim’s cock. Tim’s hands hadn’t left Rhys’ hips, and Rhys had to bite his lip at the feel of his blunt fingernails pressing into his skin. Rhys started to work one wet finger into himself, sliding it back and forth, deeper and deeper, until he could press in to the knuckle with ease. He squeezed Tim’s thigh in his other hand, loving the feel of the strong muscle beneath him. Rhys nudged a second finger in along the first, pursing his lips at the stretch of it. He kind of wished it was Tim’s fingers inside him instead--they looked so thick--but they’d have time for that. They had all the time in the world.

As Rhys prepared himself, Tim never took his eyes off him. His eyes were dark with promise, flicking between Rhys’ face and his hard cock, bouncing between them whenever Rhys rolled his hips back to fuck himself on his fingers.

“Rhys,” Tim breathed, his thumbs rubbing into the skin of his hips. “Please.” His voice sounded strained, like he was barely holding himself back from rolling them over and fucking Rhys into the mattress. “Please.” Tim said again. “Let me--I need you--”

Rhys’ legs shook, arousal coiling tight and warm in his gut. “Fuck,” he whispered, slipping his fingers out of himself. A fat bead of pre-come had gathered at the head of his cock, threatening to spill over onto Tim’s stomach. Their eyes met, and Tim surged up, cupping the back of Rhys’ neck and pulling him into a sharp kiss, his teeth catching Rhys’ bottom lip. Rhys moaned into it, his hips jerking when he felt Tim’s hard length between his cheeks, the head catching against his hole.

He reached behind him and grasped Tim’s cock, holding it still so he could lower himself onto it. Rhys shivered when the head pressed into him, so big already, stretching him wider than his fingers had. Tim pressed his forehead against Rhys’ collarbone, his warm breath coming out in pants against Rhys’ skin. Rhys tangled his free hand into Tim’s hair, something to hold onto as he took more of his cock in. Rhys had to close his eyes against the burn, against the stretch of Tim’s thick cock sliding in and in and in. He went still when he’d taken it all, firmly seated in Tim’s lap, his own cock caught between them.

“Oh--fuck, Rhys,” Tim moaned. Rhys could feel him trembling beneath him, inside him, wound tight like a string on a violin. Rhys let out a slow, even breath, and opened his eyes. He grabbed Tim’s shoulder, and with the other still in hair, pulling his head up, catching his eyes.

“Don’t come,” Rhys said and started to rock his hips, slowly, up and down. “Put your hand on me.” Rhys murmured. Tim did as he was told, letting go of Rhys’ hip to wrap his hand around his cock. Rhys’ breath hitched when Tim started to stroke him, squeezing him gently in that big hand of his.

Rhys picked up his pace, fucking himself down onto Tim’s cock, and forward into his hand, his breath growing heavy. It wasn’t long before Tim began to thrust into him as well, their hips meeting in the middle and forcing Tim’s cock even deeper. Tim was growling, low in his throat, the sound vibrating through his chest and sending a shock of pure _want_ through Rhys’ veins. He felt himself clench tight around Tim, both their hips stuttering--Rhys inhaled sharply when he felt Tim’s cock against his prostate.

“Rhys, Rhys, Rhys.” Tim was mumbling his name like a prayer, and the sound of it filled the space in Rhys’ chest with warmth. “Can I--” Tim panted, “Can I, Rhys?”

Rhys nodded, not sure what he was agreeing to, but knowing he didn’t want Tim to stop. Tim grunted, and slid his hands beneath Rhys’ thighs. In the next moment, Rhys found himself with his back on the mattress, and Tim braced above him. Tim pressed himself into the space between Rhys’ open legs and fucked into him again, the sound of their skin meeting wet and obscene in the otherwise quiet bedroom.

Like this, Rhys could more easily appreciate Tim’s chest, muscled and sweaty above him. It was a nice view, so nice that Rhys almost didn’t notice the spark of discomfort until Tim’s hips stuttered and his thrusts started to slow.

“Mmn, Tim?” Rhys questioned, eyebrows pinching together when he felt--felt Tim’s cock getting bigger inside him. “What’s--ah!” He threw his head back as Tim thrust into him hard, hitting his prostate dead-on. “Ahh, ah, oh, fuck, Tim.” Tim did it again, and again until, Rhys realized, he couldn’t pull out anymore, his cock too big for it. Rhys bit his lip at the stretch of it, bordering on just this side of too much.

Tim pressed his face into Rhys’ neck and ground his hips down, rutting against Rhys almost desperately. He shuddered and went still, and Rhys felt warmth bloom in his gut as Tim came. Rhys clung to him, digging his fingers into the muscles on Tim’s back as Tim rode out his orgasm, something rumbling in his chest.

“What--” Rhys breathed a few moments later, shifting his hips, “was _that._ ”

Tim’s hands tightened around Rhys’ hips, forcing him still, and he lifted his head, a dopey look on his face. It melted off when he caught sight of Rhys’ frown; Tim’s cheeks went pink and he ducked his head, mumbling against Rhys’ ear.

“ _What_ ?” Rhys spluttered, “I didn’t think that was a real thing. I thought that was a joke.” He clenched around Tim’s cock, his _knot_ , still not really sure if he believed it.

“It’ll go down soon, I promise,” Tim said. “Um. Did you--”

“No, and you’d better fix that.” Rhys said.

Tim wrapped his hand around Rhys’ cock and kissed him as he stroked him off. It didn’t take long for Rhys to come, the tension in his gut snapping as he spilled over Tim’s hand and onto his stomach. He moaned into Tim’s mouth, orgasm settling over him like a warm blanket.

“Here, hold on,” Tim said, pulling away. He carefully rolled them onto their sides; Rhys winced at the feel of Tim’s cock tugging against his hole. His face went warm when they shifted and he could feel Tim still coming inside him.

“Jesus christ,” Rhys muttered, pressing his forehead against Tim’s shoulder. “What is my life right now?”

He felt Tim’s hand in his hair, brushing the strands away from his forehead. Tim kissed his temple. “Good, I hope.” He muttered.

“...Don’t try to make your knotted _dick_ romantic, Tim.” Rhys laughed against Tim’s shoulder. “I have so many dog jokes about this--I’m allowed to make them now, don’t even try to tell me I can’t.”

Tim pressed his face against Rhys’ neck with a huff.


	8. Chapter 8

When Rhys woke, it was still dark outside. His eyes stung as he blinked them open, squinting into the darkness of the bedroom. The clock beside the bed read 3:56. Rhys grumbled and rolled over onto his back, reaching one arm out for Tim. His hand hit the mattress. It was cold. 

Brows drawing together, Rhys patted the space a couple times, his sleepy brain trying to catch up with the rest of him. He sat up with a frown and glanced around the bedroom. Moonlight filtered in through the blinds, big and bright on the night just before the full moon. He didn’t see Tim anywhere. 

Rhys pushed the covers back and stepped out bed, shivering when his feet touched the cool floor. He felt around in the dark for his dresser and pulled out the first thing he could get his hands on--a pair of underwear and a t-shirt. It must’ve been Tim’s, the collar dipping well below his clavicle. 

He didn’t bother grabbing his cybernetic arm before he shuffled out of the bedroom with a yawn, eyeing Hugo’s closed door as he passed it. 

“Tim?” He called out when he reached the stairs. Rhys made his way down them and called Tim’s name again. There was no reply, but the living room light was on, casting warm shadows across the floor. Rhys stepped into the doorway that led to the living room, his hand against the wall, his mouth open to call out for Tim again. 

He froze. 

Tim was there, standing beside the couch. Someone who looked just like him was standing next to him, his hand on Tim’s shoulder. 

Rhys followed the line of the man’s scar across his face with wide eyes. 

Jack.

Tim tried to shrug Jack’s hand off him and stepped forward. “Rhys,” he started, meeting Rhys’ eyes. Jack dug his fingers into the meat of Tim’s shoulder and stepped in front of him, a sharp grin splitting his mouth. 

“There’s the witch,” he said, looking Rhys up and down. Jack sniffed, his grin losing its humor. “Why don’t you head on back upstairs, kitten? The adults are talking.” 

“How…” Rhys said. How was Jack here? How did he get past Rhys’ wards? The traps? Into Rhys’ home? And why was  _ Tim  _ talking to him like he was an old friend in the middle of the night? Rhys’ flicked his gaze between the two of them, his chest tightening, his throat closing up. 

“You don’t uhhh, listen so well, do ya, sweetheart?” Jack said, taking his hand off Tim to step closer to Rhys. He was wide in the shoulders just like Tim--all muscled arms and broad chest--but Rhys still had a good two inches on him in height, and he used it to look down his nose at him. Rhys held his hand behind his back, palm open, and reached for the silver knife in his bedroom drawer, called for it. 

“Me and Timmy have some business,” Jack continued. “Don’t make me tell you again to get lost.” 

“Tim doesn’t have any business with you,” Rhys said tersely, finding his voice. He could feel the sweat on his neck, hear his heartbeat in his ears. Jack must have heard it too, because he laughed out loud. 

“Oh  _ man _ , where did you find this kid?” Jack asked, and he took a step closer. “Are you stupid or somethin’? Need to get your ears checked? If you’re not outta my sight in the next five seconds, I’m gonna slit that neck of yours and see if you bleed black like all the other witches.” 

Rhys felt the cold handle of his silver blade finally,  _ finally  _ press against his palm, and he closed his fingers around it. He kept his eyes trained on Jack, coming closer. Jack started to count down the seconds. 

“Five.” 

He was so close now, only a few feet away, but Rhys needed him closer. He tightened his grip on the knife. 

“ _ Four-” _

“Jack! Stop!” 

Timothy. He sounded angry. He grabbed Jack by the back of his shirt. “You wanted to talk, and we did. I told you my answer, we’re done. You take another step and you’re gonna regret it.” 

Jack pulled out of Tim’s grasp, rounding on him with a bark of laughter. “That’s really how you wanna do this, Timmy? We’re  _ done?  _ I don’t think so.” He reached for Tim, blunt nails sharpening into thick, black claws. 

Rhys lunged forward with the knife, swinging it with the full force of his arm to stab Jack between the shoulderblades. The blade ripped into Jack’s flesh and he howled, loud and angry. He turned on Rhys, his eyes wild, and reached out faster than Rhys could blink, his big hand closing around Rhys’ throat. 

Rhys choked, felt Jack’s claws puncture his neck, and he cried out when Jack tossed him aside. He hit the wall, his head banging against the window, and crumpled into a heap on the floor. His ears were ringing, his skull throbbing. He thought he heard someone say his name, but it was drowned out by the sound of glass shattering. Rhys lifted himself up onto his elbow with a groan and blinked away the fuzziness in his vision. When the room came back into focus, Tim and Jack were nowhere to be seen, but the patio door was hanging open, and the panes had been blown out, the floor littered with shards. 

“Fuck,” Rhys hissed, struggling to his feet. Something warm was running down the side of his face; he wiped at it, his hand coming away red. He cursed again and hurried to the patio. The thick layer of snow that’d been undisturbed earlier that night was uneven now, a mess of footprints and blood. The silver knife glinted under the light of the moon. Rhys stepped over the broken glass and out onto the patio. The winter wind whipped at his hair, and he shivered as snowflakes kissed his skin. 

He just could make out Tim and Jack near the edge of the woods, fighting in the snow. It was too dark to tell who was winning. Rhys’ heart lurched. He picked the knife up off the patio and took off towards the woods. 

“Tim!” Rhys shouted into the darkness, his breath curling like steam in front of him, his lungs constricting in his chest. His feet kept sinking into the snow, and it became harder and harder to pick them up again as they went numb from the cold. Rhys pressed on, only coming to a stop when he came upon Jack and Tim grappling in the snow. They were snarling, teeth sharp and bared, clawing and biting at each other like animals. They were both bloodied, staining the snow dark and red under the moon. “Tim!” Rhys shouted again, his fingers trembling around the knife in his grasp. 

Jack landed a heavy hit against Tim’s chest. Rhys heard Tim wheeze sharply, like all the air had left him. Jack climbed on top of Tim and wrapped his hands around his neck, pressing down, down on his throat as Tim clawed at his arms. 

“Get off of him!” Rhys yelled, ready to plunge the knife into Jack again, to slit his throat, anything,  _ anything _ to get him away from Tim. He didn’t get the chance. Something warm and familiar spilled from his fingertips, and Jack was thrown backwards by an invisible force. He landed on his back in the snow just as Tim sat up with a heaving breath. Rhys rushed to his side, dropping the knife beside him to grab Tim’s face, checking him over. “Are you okay?” he asked frantically, taking in the bruises along his cheekbone. Tim was warm under his fingertips, still alive and breathing. 

“Rhys,” Tim breathed like it hurt him. “You’re bleeding.” He reached out, brushing his fingers against Rhys’ temple. 

“It’s fine, I’m fine,” Rhys said, helping Tim to his feet. 

“ _ Now _ you’re starting to really piss me off, kid.” Jack’s voice was so close, Rhys could feel his breath on the back of his neck. He felt’s Jack’s hand close around his arm, and he was yanked away from Tim. Jack’s grip was so tight Rhys imagined he could feel his bones cracking. “I really hate witches,” Jack growled, and he tossed Rhys aside like he was yesterday’s newspaper. 

Rhys landed face first into the snow, the cold stinging his cheeks. He heard the sound of skin on skin, and he forced himself up to his knees. 

Jack had gotten Tim on his back again and was straddling him, pinning him down. His hand was curled into a fist, and he cracked it across Tim’s face again and again. 

“You shouldn’t’ve said no to me, Timmy.” Jack growled. Rhys patted the snow frantically, searching for the knife. “You could’ve made something of yourself with me, but you  _ wasted  _ it. I’m. So. Disap _ pointed _ .” Jack was still pounding on Tim, not letting up even when Tim could only grasp weakly at him. 

“Stop it!” Rhys shouted, his voice hoarse. He couldn’t find the knife, his fingers were frozen solid and his shirt was starting to grow damp from the snow. Rhys grabbed at Jack’s arm, digging his fingernails into his sleeve; electricity crackled against his palm, his magic trying to pull itself into something tangible. 

Jack ignored him. He leaned in to Tim, until their noses were nearly touching. “I’m going to kill you, and then I’m going to kill your little boyfriend, and I’m going to burn down this fucking house. No one’s going to mourn you, you stupid.  _ Fucking _ .  _ Copy. _ ” 

Sharp claws sunk into Tim’s neck and he went still, his eyes bright and wide. Rhys watched it in slow motion, like he was stuck in a dream. He couldn’t move. Jack slashed his claws across Tim’s throat. Blood oozed out immediately, spilling down Tim’s skin and into the snow. He choked on it. 

“ _ Tim!”  _ Rhys screamed, lunging forward, reaching for him. Jack grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and got to his feet, dragging Rhys along with him. Rhys struggled, trying to grab onto Tim--but Tim wasn’t moving, and Rhys couldn’t reach him. His hand hit the ground. “No! Tim!  _ Tim!” _

“Do you  _ ever _ ,” Jack grunted, tossing Rhys onto the snow in front of him, “shut your goddamn  _ mouth _ ? You’re crying over a fricken’ laboratory experiment, a cheap imitation.” He loomed over Rhys, his eyes glinting in the dark. Jack lifted one foot and pressed it over Rhys’ chest, the sole of his heavy boot digging into Rhys’ skin through the thin fabric of his shirt. Rhys winced and tried to shove Jack’s foot away, to wriggle out from underneath him. Jack shifted his weight, pressing his boot down with more force and making Rhys’ breath stutter. “Stay still, pumpkin.” 

Rhys sucked in a lungful of air when Jack slid his foot off his chest and knelt over him instead. Those big hands reached for Rhys’ neck. 

“Jack!” 

Rhys recognized that voice, even over the loud thumping of his heart. A flashlight shined on Jack, and he growled, shielding his eyes from it. There was blood all down the front of his shirt and streaked across his face--Rhys swallowed and looked away, knowing most of it was Tim’s. 

“Jack, you promised you’d leave him alive for me,” Hugo said, snow crunching beneath his shoes as he came to stop beside them. Rhys craned his neck to look at him; Hugo had a gun on him, but he hadn’t drawn it. He looked at ease talking to Jack, like they’d done it a million times. Rhys curled his cold fingers into his palm and closed his stinging eyes. 

He felt Jack above him still, hovering. 

“I kept up my end of the bargain,” Hugo said. “I told you where to find the werewolf, I took down those  _ wards _ . You said you’d leave him alive.” 

“Alright,” Jack growled, and Rhys felt him move away. “Don’t get your panties in a twist, wallethead.” 

The wards. Rhys’ mind raced. That’s how Jack got in. Hugo helped him, helped him get to Tim but why? Why? Rhys couldn’t think about this right now. He opened his eyes. Jack and Hugo were standing beside him, no longer paying him any attention. 

“I know you didn’t forget the other part of our deal,” Hugo said under his breath, sparing a glance at Rhys. 

Rhys didn’t care to find out what, exactly, Hugo and Jack’s deal had been. He pushed himself up on his shaky arm and got to his knees. 

_ Tim _ . He was still lying where Jack had left him, too still and quiet. Rhys’ face burned as he crawled his way over to him on slow and unsteady limbs. 

“Tim.” Rhys whispered his name when he reached his side. He pressed his hand to Tim’s chest and leaned over him. Tim’s eyes were open, staring up at nothing, his skin cold and pale. “Tim,” Rhys choked on his name, the sound coming out in a wet garble. He shook him, pressing his fingers into Tim’s chest hard enough to feel his sternum. 

The flow of blood from Tim’s neck had slowed to a trickle, already starting to dry against his skin, soaked into his shirt. He wasn’t breathing. 

Rhys pressed his forehead against Tim’s shoulder and clenched his eyes shut. They burned against his eyelids; a shudder racked his body, his throat closing around a sob. 

“You can’t,” Rhys cried against Tim’s shoulder.  _ You can’t go, you can’t leave me here, you can’t, you can’t.  _

Something was ringing in his ears, sharp and loud enough to hurt, to drown out the sounds of the woods, the trees rustling, Jack and Hugo. He clung to Tim as the ringing grew louder and louder, like it was pulling itself out of him, forcing its way through him and reverberating in his bones. Goosebumps rose across Rhys’ skin, and he felt something electric in the air around him. He opened his eyes to see it dancing across his fingertips, and then it was more than just the ringing in his ears.

He could feel something pouring out of him, draining him--his magic, he realized--but it was so  _ much _ . It felt like all of it was being sapped out through his fingers, like his well was running dry, like he’d never be able to refill it. Rhys fisted his hand into Tim’s shirt and let his magic wash over him, out of him. He hardly noticed when it stopped, the sparks fizzling out into nothing. 

Sounds came back to him all at once, his ears popping. 

Beneath him, Tim’s chest heaved with a gasp. Rhys barely had the energy to lift his head, but when he did, Tim was looking back at him, his eyes focused and shining. 

“Rhys,” Tim croaked. Alive.  _ Alive, alive, alive.  _

Rhys’ bottom lip trembled, warm tears slipping anew down his cheeks. He pressed his head against Tim’s chest again, his body shaking as he cried. A warm hand covered his over Tim’s chest, squeezing gently. 

Another hand wrapped around Rhys’ upper arm, and he was roughly pulled away from Tim. Jack had a wild look on his face, his smile sharp and full of too many teeth. Rhys tried to struggle against him, but Jack’s hold on him was the only thing keeping him upright. The world was spinning in front of him, his limbs heavy as stone. 

“Now  _ that _ , I didn’t see coming,” Jack said, and he let go of Rhys’ arm to grab him by the hair. He forced Rhys’ head back to look up at him. “Powerful little thing, aren’tcha? I think I’m gonna keep you.” He shoved Rhys to the ground again. Rhys groaned as he landed in the snow, too exhausted to pull himself up. 

He heard the low sound of Tim’s growl somewhere in front of him, and Jack’s heavy boots.

“Down, boy,” Jack said. Rhys forced his head up, his vision swimming as he looked around him. Hugo was lying face down in the snow; Rhys couldn’t see his face from here, but Hugo was deathly still. He turned away, back to Tim, and watched as he got unsteadily to his feet. Jack was closing in on him. “You’re gonna be in too many pieces to bring back this time, sweetheart.” 

Jack raised a clawed hand and swiped at Tim, to dig his claws into his chest--except, he didn’t. He hand stopped short and sudden, like he’d hit an invisible wall between them. Jack furrowed his brows, his expression twisting into outrage. He took another swipe at Tim, and another, and was rebuffed every time, sparks jumping in the space between them. 

“What the  _ fuck _ ,” Jack hissed. 

Tim lunged at him, tackling him to the ground. Rhys watched as Tim’s eyes went yellow, glowing against the backdrop of the dark forest. He started to shift, his spine bending unnaturally, his bones breaking, and then Tim was gone. 

The wolf snarled and snapped its teeth at Jack, who tossed his head back and shifted as well. Rhys picked himself up on his shaking arm and struggled to back away from the fight, his teeth chattering together. 

Jack was bigger than Tim, his wolf form’s coat so dark his figure was nearly lost in the night. He still couldn’t touch Tim even now--he tried to bite, to claw, to knock him down. Tim didn’t even flinch; he circled around Jack, his ears pressed back against his head. 

Jack’s eyes flicked away, meeting Rhys’ for a split second, and then he sidestepped Tim, and broke into a run towards Rhys. Rhys flinched back, bringing his arm up to shield himself. He heard Jack yelp, and Tim was on him, shoving Jack to the ground, his teeth clamped tight around his neck. Jack struggled, the wolf’s limbs flailing, his tail thumping against the snow as he snarled. 

Tim jerked his head to the side, taking a chunk of Jack’s throat between his teeth. Rhys looked away, his stomach rolling unpleasantly at the sight. He heard the sound of bone crunching, of skin being torn, wet and horrible. Then it went quiet, and there was nothing but the wind on the trees. 

Rhys lifted his gaze; Tim was standing over the mangled remains of Jack’s body, the wolf’s muzzle stained red, its teeth dripping with it.  Rhys swallowed, clenching his hand into a tight fist. The wolf looked up, and those yellow eyes bore into Rhys. 

“T-Tim?” Rhys tried, his voice barely a whisper. He was so cold he couldn’t feel his fingers.

The wolf stepped over Jack’s body, taking slow, careful steps through the snow as it approached Rhys. Rhys tried to scoot backwards, to put some distance between them. He didn’t have the energy to put Tim to sleep this time--his magic wouldn’t come to him. The wolf growled low in its throat, its eyes flashing. Rhys could feel its breath on his face, heavy and warm. 

“Tim.” Rhys said his name again. “Tim.” The wolf came closer. 

There was no spark of recognition in the wolf’s eyes, nothing to hint that it knew who Rhys was. It looked hungry, for blood maybe, violence. It looked like it wanted to tear Rhys limb from limb, to finish the job it started back at the gala. 

Tim was lost somewhere in there, and Rhys couldn’t find any sign of him. He swallowed against his fear, against his thudding heart. 

If Tim couldn’t find his way back to the surface, Rhys would go in and drag him out. 

“Tim.” Rhys uncurled his fist and reached out. He flinched when the wolf growled, but when it didn’t snap its teeth at him, Rhys pressed on. He touched the wolf’s muzzle, feeling soft, wet fur beneath his fingertips. It didn’t pull away. Rhys cupped its fingers around the side of its head. “Tim…” Rhys said again. “It’s really…f-fucking cold out here, so if you do-don’t change back in the next f- _ five  _ seconds--” 

The wolf blinked, the angry yellow of its eyes turning soft and melting away into familiar green and blue. The wolf shook its head, and then it was shifting, hunching in on itself. Rhys pulled his hand back as Tim came back to himself. Human again, Tim lifted his head, meeting Rhys’ eyes. 

“Rhys!” He all but shouted, reaching forward to wrap his arms around Rhys and pull him in closer. Rhys leaned into his warmth, burying his face into Tim’s neck; he smelled like sweat and blood and  _ death _ . Rhys clung to him and closed his eyes as Tim whispered apologies into his hair.

 

* * *

 

Rhys woke up in the hospital. He squinted at the bright florescent lights above him and lifted his hand to cover his eyes. He tried, anyway; an IV was stuck into his forearm. Rhys followed the plastic tube all the way to the half-full bag of clear liquid above his head. 

Someone shifted beside him, their arm just in the periphery of his vision. He blinked and looked over.

“Rhys!” Tim leaned over his bed. His face was pale, making the freckles stand out across his cheeks. Dark circles under his eyes hinted that it’d been awhile since he’d last slept. 

Rhys tried to say something, but his throat was so dry all that came out was a weak cough. He swallowed, and Tim held a glass of water beneath his nose. Rhys craned his neck up and sipped it gratefully. 

“How are you feeling?” Tim asked once he’d pulled the glass away. “They wouldn’t let me in for so long because I wasn’t family. Are you in pain? Do you need another blanket?” There was a deep wrinkle between his brows, worry lining every inch of his face.

Aside from a slight headache, Rhys felt fine, and he said as much. The wrinkle didn’t smooth even as Tim slid back into the little plastic chair beside the bed. 

“What...why am I in the hospital?” Rhys asked. Why wasn’t  _ Tim  _ laid out in a hospital bed? Rhys remembered what he’d looked like, lying in the snow, his eyes lifeless and cold. He shuddered. 

“You had a concussion,” Tim said, the corners of his lips turning downward. “And hypothermia. I can’t believe you came outside dressed the way you were.” 

Rhys hummed. “I didn’t exactly have time to change, did I?” 

Tim grumbled something, too quiet for Rhys to hear. He straightened up in his chair, fiddling with his hands, looking like he wanted to say something.

Rhys wondered how long he’d been here. A few hours? A day? He’d never been able to tell the time from hospital beds, even with the window blinds wide open. 

Something occurred to him then. 

“Jack,” Rhys said, meeting Tim’s eyes. “Did you…” 

Tim sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He kept his voice low. “Jack’s dead. Hugo too.” 

Hugo. Rhys vaguely remembered the conversation between him and Jack about...something. A deal, the wards--Hugo had been conspiring with Jack the whole time. Rhys wished he was surprised.

All he could hear was the silence where Tim’s heartbeat should have been. Tim’s lifeless face swam to the forefront of his mind. He’d probably be seeing it in his nightmares for the rest of his life. 

“I called Vaughn and Yvette while you were passed out. They said they’d, uh, deal with the aftermath.” 

Vaughn and Yvette were good at that. 

“Okay,” Rhys said, closing his eyes. He knew there’d be no sign of Hugo or Jack when he returned home. Tim went silent, but Rhys could feel his gaze on him. 

When Rhys opened his eyes again, Tim looked away from him. 

“Are you okay?” Rhys asked with a frown. He reached for one of Tim’s hands, clasping it in his own. 

Tim’s eyebrows shot up, a look of genuine surprise crossing his face. He hesitated a moment before squeezing Rhys’ hand. “I’m fine,” he said, his voice a little rough. “Werewolf healing.” Tim grinned; it didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“You died.” 

“You brought me back.” 

“But what if I hadn’t? Couldn’t?” Rhys said all in a rush, a lump forming in his throat. “Jack--he killed you. I watched you die.” Rhys blinked away the stinging in his eyes and struggled to sit up. “And it was my fault.” 

“It wasn’t--” 

“It  _ was _ ,” Rhys said. “I let Hugo stay with us. He took apart my wards, probably the traps too, and I let him. He made a deal with Jack, I heard them talking about it. I wasn’t careful enough. I went ahead with that stupid party...I never bothered to find out where Hugo was going or what he was doing.” 

“Rhys, hey,” Tim said, squeezing Rhys’ hand again. “Hey, it’s okay.” He leaned in, resting his other arm on the hospital bed. “I’m okay. You saved me.”

Rhys sniffed and looked away from Tim, his bottom lip trembling. 

“I’m the one to blame,” Tim said softly, stroking his thumb over the back of Rhys’ hand. “Jack wouldn’t have even been there if it hadn’t been for me. You were hurt because of that, you’re in the hospital because of  _ me _ .” 

“Stop it,” Rhys said, his throat closing around the words. “We’re not playing this game.” He sniffled. When he looked back, Tim was giving him a watery smile. 

“No?” Tim asked. “I had a whole speech prepared.” 

Rhys let out a short laugh, his mouth twisting upward into a humorless smile. “Let me guess,” he said, forcing the words out around the hitch in his breath. “You were going to say it’s too dangerous for you to stay here, that I might get hurt again. And then you were going to leave me here and go off on your own somewhere.” Rhys swallowed. “Well, you’re not allowed to leave. Now, or anytime soon. I’ve been through worse than this and you being here or not here isn’t going to stop worse from happening again.” 

Tim smiled at him again, small and fragile. “Actually,” he said, “my speech was about that hideous sweater you made me wear at the Christmas party. You get all the blame for that.” 

“You loved it,” Rhys laughed. He hadn’t realized he’d been leaning into Tim until they were nearly touching noses. Rhys closed the distance and pressed his face into Tim’s neck, his hands curling into Tim’s shirt. This close, he could hear Tim’s breathing, his heartbeat, steady as a drum.

Tim wrapped his arms around Rhys and pressed his nose in his hair. He sniffed and let out a quiet sigh. “I don’t want to leave you, Rhys,” he said. Rhys heard him swallow. “But I will if you ask me to.” 

“I won’t,” Rhys said, his lips moving against Tim’s neck. “I never would.” 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a short lil epilogue :^)

Rhys was allowed to go home later that day. Without a change of clothes, he was forced into an awful t-shirt and sweats his nurse grabbed from a supply closet somewhere. He complained all the way down the elevator and to the parking lot. Tim just shook his head and laughed at him. 

When they got back to Rhys’ house and stepped through the front door, Rhys winced as he took in the interior. Most of the glass had been swept up off the floor, but the back door was still hanging off its hinges. The vase that had been on the end table beside the couch was missing, which Rhys could only imagine meant it’d been broken. 

Gortys came down the hallway, the little bell around her neck jingling. She meowed and made her way over to them, rubbing against Rhys’ legs, then Tim’s, before running to the kitchen. Hungry, no doubt. 

Tim patted Rhys on the shoulder and followed her. 

Rhys sighed and flopped down on the couch with his cellphone. At least the Christmas tree was still intact.

 

* * *

 

Later, after Rhys had called a repairman and the sun had set, he and Tim were curled up on the couch together, freshly showered and dressed in their pajamas. 

Rhys had had a lot planned for their Christmas day. Pancakes and eggs for breakfast, a little Christmas music on the stereo as they opened gifts. A nice dinner that evening--something fancy that Tim had never tried before. He had all the ingredients in the fridge. 

They got home too late and too exhausted for any of it. Tim made them box macaroni and cheese, quick and easy and something he couldn’t mess up. Rhys opted for the gin in his liquor cabinet rather than the red wine he’d meant to pair with dinner. He’d been hoping to really give Tim a good Christmas--Tim’s first. He felt a pang of disappointment in his chest that he couldn’t give it to him. 

Tim didn’t seem bothered at all though. He was smiling over the rim of his glass, one arm wrapped around Rhys’ shoulders, his fingers playing with the hair at the nape his neck. Tim’s cheeks were already pink. Still a lightweight. 

“Hey,” Rhys said, pressing a kiss against Tim’s jaw. He started to pull away, untangling himself from Tim’s arms. “I have something for you.” 

Tim seemed reluctant to let Rhys go, holding his hand until Rhys slipped out of his grasp entirely. Rhys kneeled in front of the Christmas tree and grabbed the gift that’d been tucked away near the back. He came to sit beside Tim again and held the present out to him, his left arm shaking under the weight of it. Tim’s eyes lit up as he looked over the gold-foil wrapping paper, the pretty red bow tied around it. 

He carefully took it out of Rhys’ hands, like he was afraid of breaking it. Tim turned it over and picked at one of the seams, peeling the tape away. 

“Oh my god, just rip it,” Rhys said, nudging Tim in the side. 

“Okay, okay.” Tim did as he was told and tore the wrapping paper away. Inside were four books with rich brown leather spines and a blue and gold marble design on the covers. Tim blinked as he set them down on the coffee table. “This is…” he grabbed the first book and opened the cover. 

“Jane Austen,” Rhys offered. “I remember you said you liked  _ Emma  _ and wanted to read more. They’re not first editions, just reprints, but they were all printed before 1891, and if you look in the covers, they’re signed by their original owners.” 

“Rhys…” Tim said, his fingers ghosting over the first page of the book in his hand. “This is...wow. These are amazing.” Tim looked up. “How much did these cost you? I don’t...you didn’t have to get these for me. I would’ve been happy with any copy.” 

“I wanted you to have something nice,” Rhys said with a small shrug. 

“These are  _ really  _ nice,” Tim said, setting the book down with the others. He turned a smile on  Rhys. “Thank you.” Tim ducked his head and rubbed the back of his neck. “I have something for you too. Uh. It’s not as fancy as all this.” He gestured to the stack of books. “Hold--just hold on.” Tim got to his feet and hurried up the stairs. 

Rhys watched him go and leaned back against the couch, sipping his gin. His stomach was in knots over the look Tim had given him after he’d opened his gift. Like Rhys had just given him the moon on a silver platter. He liked that look on Tim’s face; he wanted to see it all the time. 

When Tim came back down, it was with a small, messily gift-wrapped package. It was light in Rhys’ hand. Tim sat down beside him and smiled somewhat awkwardly. 

Rhys tugged at the paper to reveal a white box. He pulled the top off to soft tissue paper and a thin bracelet nestled inside. 

“It’s a bracelet,” Tim said. 

“I see that.” Rhys smiled, pulling it out of the box to inspect. 

“Yvette and Vaughn helped me with it--uh, it’s infused with amaranth.” 

“Amaranth,” Rhys repeated, rolling the metal between his fingers. 

“Yeah, it’s supposed to protect you from harm,” Tim said, still sounding unsure. 

Rhys hummed. “I’ve read that. I’ve also read that in order for it to work you have to wear it over your heart for at least a week.” 

Tim smiled sheepishly. “It was a little longer than that...just to be sure, you know?” 

Rhys slipped the bracelet over his left wrist and crawled forward to wrap his arms around Tim’s neck. He kissed him, smiling against Tim’s mouth when he felt his hands come around his waist. “Are you worried about me, Tim?” Rhys asked, kissing him again. 

“How can I not?” Tim was playing with the hem of Rhys’ shirt. “You run out in the snow without any shoes on.” 

Rhys snorted. “Thank you, Tim.” He kissed Tim again.

Tim pulled Rhys closer, against his chest, and he kissed him and kissed him and kissed him.  


End file.
